The Fire in the Sky
by Mr. Mercenary
Summary: After retreating from a crushing defeat at the hands of an ancient alien threat, A fleet of seven starships make the discovery of a millennium: The Lost Colony of Pern. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**THE FIRE IN THE SKY**

**A Dragonriders of Pern FanFic**

**By Mr. Mercenary

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**BEGINNING**

_The fleet of seven starships fled through space, away from the slaughter behind them. But, unknown to them, one more followed._

_They were moving in a flying V formation, standard practice of CTS battle groups. This particular fleet, however, was far from a battle group. Or rather, what was left of one._

_Four of the vessels were somewhat larger than the others, these were fairly large cargo freighters that had been drafted for the purpose of supplying distant fleets with fresh supplies of fuel and food. The other three were warships, their sleek, graceful appearance almost disguising their true purpose: to wage war against the enemies of the C.T.S._

_Though the ships were all in almost perfect condition, the same could not be said for their crews. Their morale was in tatters, after seeing their Starbase, as well as most of the people they had ever known, go up in smoke. All they knew was that the base Self-Destruct had taken out most, if not all of, the Cross-Eyes' ships._

_Now their current path of flight took them into previously uncharted regions of deep space, right to the edge of their world._

_Or so they had thought._

* * *

The Confederated Terran States was one of several new space nations that formed the remnants of the old FSP. The Federated Sentient Planets, as the old empire had been called, or at least to history books, had collapsed under its own weight from industrial decay, rampant corruption, and the inability to shift back to a peacetime economy after the war with the Nathis had ended. It had happened in a fashion similar to the collapse of the Soviet Union in the late 20th Century.

Various provinces had decided to secede, or in more radical cases, rebel, from the FSP and its Militaristic government well before the war had even ended. The FSP hardly had the starships or resources to keep one planet from rebelling, let alone the entire FSP. Within decades, the great Terran Republic had crumbled into a state of near constant civil war. And a second so-called Dark Age had begun.

It had been like that for nearly a millennium, technological advancement and exploration had slowed to a trickle. Dictators and Emperors came and went almost yearly. There was widespread chaos and slaughter across the known galaxy. It would take another threat of galactic proportions, another threat to the whole of Mankind, to bring these warring fragments called nations back together, back to order. To end the darkness.

This new threat introduced itself in the form of a malevolent race that would soon come to be known as the Crosseyes.

They had taken Mankind by surprise. Those two states that had first encountered them, New Japan and the Democratic American Republic (DAR), took them as a new tactic by the other, as the nations had been at war with each other for some time. Their mistake cost them their lives, as the seemingly blitzkrieg tactics of the T'Hranii erased any existence of both nations, firing huge beam cannons at their planets, turning them into instant asteroid belts.

They poured into known Terran space like a tsunami, relentless, their unyielding want of the total annihilation of Mankind visible in their X-slitted eyes. The remaining nation-states quickly signed peace treaties and cease-fires with each other to face such a murderous new enemy.

The Second Galactic War lasted just twelve years. Those years had been suspenseful ones, humanity reduced to a mere third of its numbers before the war. And the alien threat was not yet finished. The remnants of their vast armada retreated back to their distant home galaxy where the valiant fighters and champions of Terran kind could not reach them.

One thing was for sure: The Terran Race would have to regroup.

Another millennium passed, in that time the nation-states formed federations, splintered, and rebelled, but another Dark Age never descended. Though memory of the FSP, as well as much of the lore from those times, faded first into myth, then into legend, these new Terrans had remembered the last war that nearly drove their race to the brink. The T'Hranii would be back.

By the year 4912 A.D., nearly two and a half millennium, twenty-five hundred years, after the collapse of the FSP, many of the nation-states fad formed into several large superpowers: the Vegan Empire, The Tau Border Worlds (TBW), And the Confederated Terran States (CTS). Although there were many separate nation-states, it was these three superpowers that would dominate the galaxy and continue to do so, right up to the present day.

Unfortunately for them, nothing lasts forever, least of all peace. It would end in 4923 A.D. when the Ancient T'Hranii struck again at last.

-_The Poor Spacefarer's Guide to Human History, 4955 Edition_

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Oh hey, an edit here.


	2. Chapter 2

**NOTE: I do not own the Dragonriders of Pern series.

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**PARADISE**

_The seven vessels continued through space, heading unknowingly toward a lost remnant of humanity, a long forgotten human outpost of some sorts, the hive mind could ascertain this much. _

_The eighth T'Hranii vessel continued to follow them, just out of range of their weak passive radar. Intent on a slow and methodical vengeance for the loss of its brother hive minds. The fleet of vessels must be going to this planet, it concluded that the humans must be know of it somehow, regardless of what their telepathic mind probes on them indicated. A human colony in a sector of space uncharted by Terrans was peculiar._

_It then began to lay out a plan._

_The vessel suddenly sprang to life, skirting the fleet of human vessels, setting course for this tiny human outpost._

_The hive would have its revenge, and it would be, delectable. It would have the satisfaction of 'killing two birds with a single stone' as the humans once said. Both the destruction of the humans and their ships that had caused it so much grief, and the annihilation of this previously unknown human colony._

_It would have its revenge._

* * *

"By the Gods, we are screwed without a miracle."

The man in the captain's chair said these words with solemn resignation. The look of grief just flickered across his face; he was a man who had lost everything, everything except the will to live, and to fight. Those alone had carried himself and his fellow crew that far.

He was not the man who should have sat in that chair. The entire bridge crew of the _C.T.S. Sargasso_ had been sucked into space when a torpedo from a T'Hranii destroyer impacted the ship's superstructure. No survivors.

First Officer James Falcanar was in fact the second-in-command of another ship, the _Adriatic_. That ship had been destroyed in the surprise attack that decimated the Second Fleet. As far as he knew, out of the dozen or so survivors that made it off that doomed vessel, he was the only officer to make it out.

His wife and son were on the surface of Tzu 32 when the Crosseyes attacked; their legendary QD Cannons made short work of the planet. There were no known survivors from the surface. Zero survivors out of four and a half million, their graveyard so many fresh asteroids.

Falcanar would have to grieve later, the dead could wait. Keeping what was left of the Second Fleet alive was more important to him right now, the only thing important.

The Acting Captain looked around himself at the ruins that were the control consoles of the bridge. The men in the room were all from other ships, since many of the _Sargasso's_ own crew were killed in the attack. The superstructure had been mostly repaired by the Nanotech systems during their last three days of flight. It could slowly repair the actual structure of the ship, but could do little for the countless pieces of electrical equipment that would have to be completely replaced.

Falcanar had read accounts from his History classes back at the Academy of how the T'Hranii used devastating EMP weapons to cripple starships, destroying their navigation's electronics. Their weapons could bypass any shielding and strike where it hurt the most. Falcanar had been surprised the Nanotech even still functioned, at least that was a godsend.

The Nanotech also could do very little to improve the horrible morale in the Fleet. This situation felt like a straight and utter defeat. Falcanar knew that they would have to improve that or He and his comrades would not survive.

The man was roused from his deep state of thought be a bridge operator.

"Sir, these are the checklists for crew and supply transfers that you asked for."

Captain Falcanar turned to the officer. "Thank you. Please tell the Captain aboard the _Sierra_ that we aboard the _Sargasso_ thank him for transferring supplies to us."

"I will sir. Also, I have been asked by the Supply Officer aboard that he is concerned about our levels of Contra- Terrene Fuel and rations for the crew. He said that the new supplies will last the crew a few weeks at most."

"Tell the Supply Officer not to worry, at least not right away. That is all."

"Yes Sir." The Officer crisply saluted Falcanar before turning to leave. As he left, another man entered. Judging from his grungy appearance, The Captain recognized him straight away as the Chief Engineer, Marcos McNally.

McNally, at six nine, stood head and shoulders above Falcanar. The Engineer stormed onto the bridge, bee lining for him.

"Captain, when the bloody hell are we going to get those engine computer replacements? We're barely holding together as it is, we need computers to regulate the engines, not a half dozen accountants with calculators-"

"I the event you didn't already know, which is unlikely, we are currently a little short on computer hardware at the moment. Just be thankful your Boys figured out how to regulate fuel consumption without a computer."

"I know that, I know the _Venturas_ was carrying an entire cargo of computer equipment that we could use-"

"Which was ruined when the Cross Eyes attacked us. I told you all of this when I took command. I don't enjoy repeating myself."

"I know that sir, McNally replied, It's just-"

"Just what?"

"It's just that the guys you got down there are damned near exhausted, four-hour shifts or not. I pray they don't make a mistake with fuel intakes and blow us all up."

"We're all tired, from fighting, from running. I also don't have time for this. Tell your men they'll be commentated for their services when this is all over. Dismissed."

"Yessir." The Engineer saluted and left as well.

The Acting Captain turned back to the partially restored viewscreen on the Bridge. Most of the feeds were still snow, but the primary showed what was directly in front of the _Sargasso_, only distant, empty space.

The Captain turned to the crewman in the Comm. chair. "Ensign, give me a view of the main hangar area if we have a working cam down there," He ordered.

"There is Sir, on main screen," He replied.

A moment later a view of a vast compartment within the ship appeared on the screen, the floor space dominated with several dozen Stiletto starfighters, most fueled up and at the ready. Some, beyond repair, were being salvaged for parts. The huge Hangar shield, almost dominating the background of the image, flickered slightly. Falcanar noted with slight relief that there was a hoopball game in progress of the floor area. He was glad that at least someone on this ship was at least attempting to have a good time.

_Those pilots that survived the destruction of the _Kikital_ are certainly having a good time_, Falcanar thought. He had only ever glanced at the report on the New Instrumentation Project (NIP), a program to train fighter pilots from birth. Nearly every pilot that had been temporarily drafted into the _Sargasso's_ fighter wings were teenagers, ages ranging twelve to nineteen.

It went against many of the morals that The Acting Captain stood for, using children to fight and die in wars. Even though these children were among the best pilots he had ever seen, the least kills in actual combat during the Farbanti Rebellion was six, and were all technically Aces, He still could not help feeling it was wrong.

"Ensign, how are our new pilots doing?"

"Judging from the impromptu tournament they have set up, it would seem that they are recovering from this ordeal somewhat easily," the Comm Operator replied.

"What was the name of their WC again?"

"I believe that the Wing Commander's name was Skye, Sir. He holds a rank of Colonel and at age sixteen too."

"Colonel Skye, huh? Well, this guy must have done something important to have risen in rank so quickly. He's younger than my grandson." _Was_, Falcanar mentally corrected, holding back tears, just barely remaining composed as he recalled recent events.

"We do need them, Sir," The operator replied. "They are pretty good-"

"I know that Ensign, I didn't ask for your opinion," The Captain suddenly snapped at the Operator.

"Yessir," He replied, somewhat warily.

The Acting Captain turned back to the checklists that had been delivered to him by the Supply Officer earlier. Deep down, He had a feeling things would soon become a whole lot more interesting in the coming days and weeks ahead. Captain Falconar relaxed, half watching the little contest.

* * *

The game was tied fourteen-even. The team that scored the winning point won the case of genuine Vegan Goldfire Bourbon sitting on ice in a cooler off to the side. Despite the fact that every last pilot in the Fighter bays was technically underage, and that alcoholic beverages were banned aboard all CTS Naval starships, someone was cunning and clever enough to have smuggled an entire case of the spirit onto the _Sargasso_. That case was now the prize to whichever flight wing's sponsored team won the Hoopball tournament that was all the Colonel's Idea. The championship game was between the teams from the Bloodtails and the Lugers' sponsored teams.

Colonel James "Skye" Redbour watched this with idle fascination. At just five-ten, he wasn't as tall in stature as some of his fellow fliers, but he was absolutely lethal behind a flight stick, with a record forty-two kills during the Rebellion. His deep brown eyes were like bottomless pits into a man who was deep and complicated, staring out from behind a pair of nonreflective black sunglasses. And he wasn't afraid to speak his mind to anyone, not even that crazy "Acting" Captain Falcanar. Skye was Bloodtail Wing member himself, he silently cheered his team on from the sidelines. It had been an exciting game series so far.

He never expected that the simple suggestion to hold a tournament to improve morale would grow to be such a major event. Officers from the other vessels had shuttled over to watch the bout. Someone somewhere had scavenged some media equipment, and, despite the current limits to radio traffic between the ships in the fleet, was being broadcast play by play to every other vessel.

The reward of this contest, a case of pure contraband, had been discovered during a search for replacement computer parts in a near-forgotten storeroom aboard. Surprisingly, none came forward to claim ownership. Skye had to sweet-talk the captain for five minutes to persuade him to allow it to be used as the 'reward' in the morale booster project Skye was working on. He was fortunate to have gotten to him before Falcanar cycled it out the nearest airlock.

The Lugers suddenly took possession of the ball from the Bloodtails, hell-bent on reaching the goal hoop. The Bloodtails had played a murderous defense throughout the final game so far, the Lugers' Offense the same. Skye wasn't at all surprised; anyone would kill for a drink after several months of parched regulation-enforced dryness. Too bad they hadn't had a chance to even dock when the T'Hranii hit.

The Lugers were going for the winning point. The lead dribbled down the small court, up to the hoop, leapt like the wind graceful, to make the point and land back down a winner-

-When the ball was knocked from his hand, out of nowhere, by a person who had to have been even more graceful to have done that. Lieutenant Thomas Falsner. Callsign "Endgame". _How appropriate for this current situation, Skye thought_.

He landed with amazing agility, leaping into a sprint to the opposing goal like a gazelle, the ball a mere blur between his hands as he darted between players toward the goal. The Lugers could do little as he leapt up and slammed the ball through the hoop.

The ball had yet to even touch the ground as the entire hangar erupted with cheers, every spectator and winning Bloodtail roaring with approval. Even several of the defeated Lugers cheered or clapped, the emotions running that high. Skye knew that they would all get over the recent events, it only took time.

Well that, and a bottle of newly won Vegan Sin-in-a-Bottle._

* * *

_

_The _Yoko_, above Pern_

_A'rak, you dozed off again._

Brown dragonrider A'rak woke at a start, the familiar voice of Lageth waking him from a fitful sleep. He had been dreaming he had been back at sunny Southern Boll, before he was searched.

The watch post aboard the _Yokohama_ was tedious at best. Though he was never alone aboard, there were always a few others who could use the various panels and controls on the "Bridge", he still felt a little lonely away from other dragonriders at Fort Weyr. Then he started dreaming of his childhood. A'rak uncurled himself from the painful position in what had one been the Captain's chair. He could see that night on Pern was fast approaching, as darkness crept across the surface of the planet below. He must have been sleeping a while.

And his dragon had woken up from his sleep, curled up in the Cargo Bay.

They had both been bored for the three days that they had been cooped up here. There were few things to do for a dragon.

Janga and Ceras had been his only other company for some time now. Both of them harpers, these two were the ones that kept an eye on the "radar," as it was called. The only reason A'rak was here at all was to offer support in case of an emergency. Nothing had happened in the turn since they had set up a regular watch here. In A'rak's opinion, nothing ever would.

Janga rubbed the fatigue from his eyes. Tiredly, he raised himself from the the chair he had sat at for the last three hours, stretching out the cramps.

"I think I'll go relieve myself," he said.

"Do you think you could bring me some _klah_ on your way back?" Ceras asked over her shoulder.

"I will." Then he left the bridge.

After he left, Ceras turned around to A'rak. "Do you do anything else other than sleep?"

"Of course," he replied. "I fight Thread."

"All dragonriders do. I mean with other people."

"I have always been sort of a loner."

"Oh I see, you just don't like women too much."

"That's not true, I just never-"

_A'rak, something is coming._

No doubt a message from the surface, though they could have used that communication device. "What is it Lageth? Another dragon?"

_No. Bigger._

"From Pern?"

_No. From space._

A'rak was suddenly alert, his senses suddenly alive.

Ceras turned around to A'rak, "Are you talking to your dragon again-"

No sooner had she said the words, the lights on the console began to flash and beep.

Jenga, came rushing in, his pants nearly half-way down. "What's happening?"

There is something on radar, approaching fast. It will be here very soon. It's some kind of ship."

"Who is it? The FSP?"

"I don't know," Ceras said. "This thing's saying it's unidentified."

A'rak hurried to a window. "Where is it?"

At first there was nothing. And then the object appeared, far larger than his Lageth, larger than even the _Yokohama_, it seemed to even dwarf the planet below them.

_It is here_, Lageth said.

"By the shards," A'rak muttered under his breath.

* * *

_Standardized maintenance is a bitch._


	3. Chapter 3

_Greetings, here is the next installment for the story, hope you like it. It took a little longer than expected, but it was because I have been busy with other things. Well, Enjoy._

**NOTE: I do not own the DoP series. I do own my own characters however.**

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**MONOLITH**

_The Hive mind became overwhelmed with apprehension, expectation, as it neared its destination, the system known as Alpha Sagittarius, also known to Human lore as Rukbat, or so its databanks read._

_The system's one star was a yellow star, the planets orbiting it numbering six. The early gravitic data indicated that the sixth planet held an eccentric, erratic orbit, bringing it through the system only once every few hundred years. It also noted on its long range scans that the third world of the system was habitable for Humans, further indication that this system was populated as the Hive sensed._

_As it approached the edge of the system, it pierced the field of material surrounding almost all star systems, the Oort Cloud, the Hive noted that it was infested with some kind of bizarre life form, apparently evolved to thrive in an environment nearly devoid of all energy input; The Rukbat star was only still a mere speck, too distant to provide adequate solar energy._

_As it further entered the system, it detected several more vessels along with itself. The first two were relatively small in terms of size, Terran in origin, their current vectors taking them on a collision course with Rukbat. The third, slightly larger than the first two, was in geosynchronous orbit around the third planet. These ships all seemed to be very ancient ones, well beyond obsolete for Human standards. They posed no risk._

_The fourth, however, was far more different._

_It was of a more recent design, as well as being far larger than its present company. Its scans indicated it was armed, albeit lightly._

_But this mattered little, as the vessels it had found were little match for Itself. It would have its revenge still._

_It continued onward._

_

* * *

C.T.S. Sargasso, 0620 hundred hours, Tzu 1 Local Time _

Captain Falcanar sat in the Ready Room, looking at the report that would save all of their asses, and wondering how he was going to break the news to the reception that would soon be arriving.

The LRIC Comm system had finally been fully repaired an hour ago, and the first thing he had done was attempt to contact the CTS High Command at Coranis Prime. All they had gotten on the general frequencies was static and more static. He was tempted to contact the Vegans, but seriously doubted that they would offer any help to their long time rivals.

After that failed, he switched to Plan B.

He wondered if the damned thing even still functioned, but his fears were all dispelled when the message he secretly sent it was pinged back, indicating it was still alive and well. It also pinged back its current location, in a system not far from their present location.

This was their last chance; there was nothing else beyond this point, He had known it since he was last in the Sagittarius Sector. Falcanar saw his opportunity to live on; He was going to take it.

The door to the Ready Room suddenly slid open, and five of the people he wanted to see entered.

Wing Commander Skye was the first. His crisply pressed dress uniform a far cry from the grungy service uniform he had been generally seen in for the last few days. The only thing the same was his black wraparound sunglasses.

Accompanying him personally were two pilots; one he recognized instantly as Lt. Falsner, the player that won the Hoopball game late yesterday. The second pilot was a young woman, whose name Falcanar did not know. The other two were Chief Engineer McNally and Chief Science Officer Todd Jukes. He had learned that Jukes too had lost family on Tzu 32, his brother to be precise.

These five immediately took seats closest to where Falcanar sat at the head of the table, not waiting for his prompt.

"Well," Skye began, "This must be something major to call out all the Brass like this. May I introduce my two best pilots, Lieutenant Falsner and Lieutenant Myassa Capris."

"Hello, Captain," Capris said, slightly whimsically as she sat down. Her apparent laid-back personality, deep blue eyes, and stunning auburn hair portrayed an aura of innocence, but if her standing record of twenty-seven kills during the Rebellion proved anything, that aura of innocence was little more than a facade.

"Well," McNally started, "Let's get to it, I honestly don't want ta' wait too long. I don't yet trust those replacement parts for the fuel gauging computers in th' engines yet. Don't want ta' leave 'em alone too long." He too took a seat.

"I apologize beforehand; you may be preoccupied with other business for the time being, this is both a meeting and a mission briefing."

After they were all finally seated.

* * *

"As you know," the Captain started, "The primary reason we have been moving steadily away from CTS space is because of the fact that during those first few days, we were without weapons control, communications, and navigations. Many of these systems and their adjoining subsystems have either been repaired or fully replaced. But the one major problem that is confronting us, the main problems that prevent us from returning to the Confederated Terran States and kicking some serious Crosseye T'Hranii ass, is the fact that we no longer have enough fuel to reach CTS space, and the fact that we have no frigging clue what we will be getting into, because despite having Communications almost fully restored, We still cannot talk to the CTSGHQ."

Jukes suddenly started. "That last part about the trouble with communicating," He said, "It sounds similar to accounts of jamming and such during the Second War. If these are the T'Hranii, which seems to be the general consensus, they may use similar tactics as they did then.

"Nice," Lt. Falsner said. "We now have to deal with no radios in the cockpit."

"What about the fuel, whaddaya mean we got no fuel?" McNally interjected.

"Well," Skye began, "Explain what in hell happened to our generous stockpile of fuel."

Falcanar began. "At about oh-two-hundred hours this morning, the Fleet Refueler _Pearl-of-Joy_ suffered a critical loss of its cargo. Four of its nine storage pods, for unknown reason, ruptured, spilling their stored cargo into space. This new development is only still known to, beside you and I, the senior officers aboard the other vessels. I have called the other Captains together for a briefing on a possible solution to resolve this mess." He tapped the report that lay on the table in front of him.

Skye looked at the file. The bluish color indicated that it was probably a communication, but with who? His CO just said they lacked contact with the CTS? The Vegans maybe? Would he actually be desperate enough to ask for help from an enemy state?

"The file there, what's it from?" asked Lt. Capris.

"This," Falcanar said, "Is from our salvation."

"Stop talking in tongues, who's it from?" Skye asked, wanting to find out, for himself as well as present company.

"What I'm about to say is to never leave this room, much of the actual facts pertaining to this is declared Top Secret, by both the CTS Government and the CTS Navy. After we get out of this alive, I suggest that you forget everything said, both for yourselves and your careers. Oh and another thing, don't interrupt until I'm done."

"Yes Sir," Skye and the others in the room said collectively.

And Falcanar began.

* * *

"Before the Farbanti Rebellion, before the Farbanti System and several of its neighbors attempted to secede from the CTS to the Vegan Empire, I had been an officer on a small freighter in the nearby Dulcimer system, running freight between the planets and bases out there. At about the time the Rebellion began, I was contacted by an old childhood friend, and you would have known him as Fleet Admiral William Baxter."

"_The_ Admiral Baxter?" exclaimed Jukes. "The famed Admiral of the First Fleet? You were friends with him?"

"I remember saying earlier not to interrupt me," Falcanar said. He saw that Skye too was about to say something, but abruptly closed his mouth. The Captain continued.

"He called me, and asked if an old friend would have any interest in joining a, ah, 'group' that he was putting together. Considering the fact that if I stayed on that freighter instead, I would have been on a dead end assignment. So, considering the lucrative offer that had just been made to me, I willingly accepted it. About a month after the call, I was in the Farbanti system, the whole of the region teeming with revolution, but I wasn't there to take up arms with them, I was there to fight them.

"You see, I had been hired onto a group of mercenaries, currently employed by the CTS to act as 'Privateers' against the Farbanti Insurgency. To be clearer, we were little more than state-sponsored pirates, killing and raping and murdering our way through whatever was out there. And that old coot was the top dog of it.

"But to make a long story short, one of the captures we hauled in would eventually be the turning point of many of our careers, as well as the turning point in that damned Rebellion. What we captured that day was none other than a Super Servant Class Heavy Freighter, Those big sons'o'bitches that had been long rumored to travel between the Vegan homeworlds. No one in the CTS even knew what one looked like, and here we were, with one fresh from Vegan territory in our possession. Those Vegans don't attach names to their ships, so she didn't even have one. We just called it the '_Monolith_.'

"Aboard it, we not only found invaluable intelligence that helped us with that war, but we found vast stores of weapons, supplies, munitions, and other equipment. There was enough aboard that tub to fight a war for months. Chances are, if we hadn't found and captured it and that freighter managed to reach the Farbanti System, the Rebellion as you know it might have turned out very differently.

"We used the captured freighter for the remaining months of the War, both as a Resupply Station and as a Command Post. Even after the war officially ended, and the usual die-hard insurgents were pissing around, it served as an effective launch platform for missions.

"After things finally settled down, I had intended to return to Freight, but our capture of the Vegan Superfreighter had made both myself and Baxter very famous in the CTS Navy Hierarchy. And before I knew it, I had been granted a command on the CTS _Adriatic_, which was one of our brand-new Battlecarriers at the time, along with the _Sargasso_. And it was like that up until now, our current situation. So that was a summary of the past couple of decades of my life."

Skye's response was not as immediate as Falcanar expected, though after a moment he did speak up.

"The freighter you claim to have captured, how come no one has ever heard about it?"

"Because, we never admitted to the fact we still had it after the war ended. Baxter had decided to hold on to that find, rather let it be scrapped for technology. He falsified a report that it was destroyed in the final month of the war, something about colliding with an asteroid and its antimatter reactor compromising. But that vessel is still out here, still filled to the brim with fuel, in orbit around nearby Alpha Sagittarius. And now," And he leaned forward toward the others at the table as he said this, "We're going to take it."

* * *

It had been nearly ten hours since the object appeared above Pern. And it had done little other than sit there in orbit above the Southern Continent, not far from where the _Yokohama_ was now.

The Bridge of the ship had become crowded with Lord Holders, Craftmasters, Harpers, several Weyrleaders and Weyrwomen, and dozens of others who A'rak didn't even think even belonged there during a situation like this.

He had already told Masterharper Sebell, Benden Weyrleaders F'lar and Lessa, Mastersmith Fandarel, and at least a dozen others what all he had seen. Only that it was not there, and moments later it was. He actually never expected to meet so many famous people in such a short time, and especially under such circumstances.

His shift actually didn't end for a few more hours, but he didn't care. He wondered where those other two, Jenga and Ceras, could have gone. He decided it didn't matter. He was going back to the surface with his Lageth for some much needed rest. Let the Harpers and other Dragonriders figure the Vessel out.

The Vessel, as it was now being called, was simply beyond belief. It had to be several thousand dragonlengths long, maybe even more. The only discernible features from his post on the Bridge were the huge engine nacelles on one end. The other end tapered to a fine point.

The Vessel also appeared to reflect no light. It was completely dark, except for the engine nacelles which glowed only slightly.

As he walked down the corridor to the Hangar, he suddenly got a message from his dragon. Lageth was no longer on the _Yokohama_; he was outside it, clinging to the vanes that ran the ship's length, observing the Vessel through the clearness of space.

He saw an image of what his dragon saw, a clear image of the Vessel. But Lageth's view saw a series of strange lights on the sides, in a regular pattern. When A'rak reached a window and looked out he saw only it's inky black outline.

"I don't see anything, Lageth." He couldn't understand it. It must have something to do with the fact that dragons could see things their human riders couldn't.

_The lights are there, I can see them._

"Are you sure?"

_I am._

His dragon never lied. If there were lights on that ship, there were lights. But why has no other dragon seen them yet? It was because none of the other dragons was as restless as his and was willing to gallivant on the ship's exterior, he answered his own question.

An idea suddenly hit A'rak. He saw an opportunity.

"Lageth, go back to the Hangar, I'm going to come out with you. We'll go out and see what those lights are."

_Well, that's a wrap for this chapter. I had to fix a couple of errors, but its good. Keep an eye out for the next chapter._


	4. Chapter 4

_I am back, after a long and well overdue vacation. School has finally ended, and I expect to look forward to a bit more spare time to get things done. Here is the next chapter._

**Note: I do not own The DOP series.

* * *

**

**SUPREMACY**

_The single mind of the T'Hranii vessel was single no longer. It had split itself into three smaller, networked components to carry out its plan to annihilate this threat. Though it knew that a simple plan would be as effective also, It had decided instead on a more complex approach, as the simpler approach would actually be far more dangerous and would be subject to unnecessary risk._

_The "Minds" had also finished the scan of the entire system known as Rukbat. What the scan revealed was disturbing at best, slightly frightening at the worst._

_The newer vessel that had appeared at first glance to be an unarmed Heavy Transport above the third planet was not unarmed at all but was quite the opposite, far too exceedingly to simply protect cargo. Its weapons and armor were strong enough to take on the T'Hranii Cruiser, even an entire Fleet of them. The Freighter would be very dangerous if it was a fully operational starship. Fortunately, this was not the case, at least for the moment. The vessel was only minimally shielded and appeared to be unmanned. Though it bristled with armament, there were no energy signatures to indicate it was battle ready. It would be an easy target._

_But being unmanned could not be said for the smaller Terran vessel also in orbit above the third planet, which was crowded with Terran signatures, among others. This was definitive proof that there was human life in Rukbat, and that the Human Fleet it had lost sight of was headed here._

_The planet below could and did support Human life, though there were too few life signatures to make it a major colony. There were, in fact, only between six to eight million on the surface. It was most likely a small secret military outpost to be used in the event of war._

_But this was disturbing, if this was a military outpost, it would have a support fleet of defending warships. If this was the case, then where were they? In addition, it readings found a lack of any orbital facilities that would indicate orbiting spacedocks necessary to support that fleet._

_If the four starships, two of which were doomed without immediate intervention, were the only ones in the system, then this was not a military facility at all. After a lengthy analysis, the Minds finally came to the conclusion that this was none other than another forgotten human settlement from eons past. The scanning of the Humans' Historic records prior to the initial strike on the Human colony 'Tzu 32' indicated that the discovery human settlements not thought to have existed had, in fact, happened in the past._

_Pathetic, Humans losing their own kind. Nothing would have ever happened in the T'Hranii race._

_This was, for certain, the case for Rukbat. A long forgotten Human Colony, all the more enticing to destroy._

_The Minds made several adjustments to accommodate this new information, as well as any future unexpected discoveries or occurrences._

_And the Minds continued, now cloaked to avoid any detection, towards their ultimate goal._

_

* * *

C.T.S. Sargasso, 1020 hundred hours, Tzu 1 local time, Briefing Room. _

Lt. Falsner was enjoying his second love, after flying for the C.T.S. Navy; He was reading.

Though the ship's data files and digital books were all wiped out in the T'Hranii raid, he had borrowed, and was now sitting in the cockpit of an F2-A Stiletto JSSF, trying to relax in the uncomfortable seat.

He was about halfway through the third chapter when a head popped up over the side, startling him and breaking his flow of thought.

"You usually read before a major Op," Lieutenant Capris said to her fellow pilot. "Why here in the cockpit?"

"The book's a biography about a former ace pilot. There isn't a better place to read something like this than the cockpit of a fighter."

"The book sounds boring."

"Biographies usually are in my opinion," Falsner responded. "But this is the only physical binded book on the ship. I got it from an officer in Engineering."

"Well whatever, we're wanted it Briefing. All the mission specifics have been sorted out," Capris said.

Falsner tossed the book back into the cockpit and hauled himself out onto the expansive floor of the hangar. Either end was covered by a huge permeable shield that kept the air in but let the ships out. Though the hangar doors were sealed shut, the shield was still active. Falsner hadn't even noticed something obvious. The shields were only left active like that in the event of a possible attack.

But minutes later, Falsner, Capris, and the other lead pilots from three other squadrons were seated around the conference table that had been occupied by the Brass from the other ships barely an hour before. He had already sat in on part of that briefing, and he understood the part about supplies on the rouge Freighter.

Wing Commander Skye sat at the head of the table and waited silently for the others to take their seats. Falsner and Capris were seated. Lieutenant Traska and Lieutenant Hawkins and their wingmen were also already there, the leads on the Luger and Sphinx squadrons respectively. Lieutenant Parker, the lead on the Image squadron, was the only one who had yet to show up.

"I'm not going to wait for Parker, so I'm going to get started," Skye said suddenly.

He got up from his seat and pressed a button on a small remote in his hand. A second later, a holomap of a star system appeared on the table, reaching to the ceiling. The view zoomed in on what appeared to be the third planet of six in the star system.

"This is the third planet of the nearby Alpha Sagittarius star, approximately one light-year away. Our target," and another image replaced that if the planet, this one of a starship of some kind, "Is orbiting this planet, presumably in a geosynchronous orbit, but we're not sure."

"Is there any information about the ship?" Traska asked.

"I'm getting there," Skye replied.

"Our mission, what is it, in general?" Falsner himself asked.

"Your mission is escort only. Fortunately you'll get to sit back and enjoy the show. A detachment of marines from the _Leningrad_ are going to board the ah, freighter, and secure what cargo is needed, namely and most urgently fuel-"

At that moment Lieutenant Parker rushed in, panting from an exertion, and briskly saluted Skye.

"Lieutenant Parker reporting as ordered sir," He said, at attention.

"You're late." Skye said. "Hawkins, repeat what our mission is to this lieutenant."

Our mission is to escort a team of marines to a derelict vessel and await further orders," Hawkins replied sternly.

"Good. Now that we are all on the same page, take a seat soldier." Skye said to Parker.

Skye continued from where he left off. "As I was saying, your orders are to escort the marine transports to the freighter, until they are docked, and recon the surrounding area."

Another pilot spoke up. "Im going to wager a guess and say the target is unmanned."

You are correct. The ship is being operated by a master AI, that is networked into all of the ship's systems. Captain Falcanar has supplied me with override access codes to deactivate it and restore normal operations. The marine teams will conduct this respectively, so don't worry about it. In the event that it is necessary to extract the teams, cover them in their escape."

"Sir if I may ask, why do we need four squadrons to escort a team of marines?" Falsner once again asked.

"For two reasons. One, the ship in question is heavily armed, albeit for a freighter. And number two, if the T'Hranii have returned, which seems to be so, then there may be others out there. I sincerely doubt that they were only at Tzu 32, and could be waiting for us at every turn. So we need to take precautions like this."

"I understand sir," Falsner replied.

"There's one question, if I may ask," Parker then said."What is the name of the freighter were going to see on this little field trip?

"The ship's name? It's called the _Monolith_." Skye said, almost emotionless. "Dismissed."

The briefing was short as they usually go, but the mission for the fighter pilots was routine. Just make sure no one got into trouble. The Freighter, dubbed "_Monolith_", was for the moment, orbiting the third planet of nearby Alpha Sagittarius, still carrying out the order it had been given over two years before. Hopefully they could reach it before the AI-controlled vessel jumped to hyperspace and escaped. It would be close.

But then again, things were often close when it came to military operations.

The dressing room was already crowded with young fighter pilots and personnel. Falsner could make out the other pilots in his wing.

Texas, a Lieutenant from a deep mining colony in the Triestas System, was an easygoing, bespectacled young man who was a serious threat to the other guy when in the fighter seat. As well as being the one of the first members to the 498th Special Auxiliary Fighter Group, he was respectable and an easy friend.

The other member he saw was Chuk-Chuk, who was originally an orphan whose parents, both soldiers, were killed in action during the Farbanti Rebellion. Although he did not talk about his childhood, he was a reliable trustworthy person. There was also Valero and Raccoon, but they were not in the room.

"Hey, if you're looking for the others, they already went to the hangar," Texas said, his accent stressing the words.

"Then let's all hurry and get our own asses down to there and join them." Falsner said, fiddling with the combination on the keypad lock.

The remaining fighter pilots and crews quickly dressed and in minutes were all in their flight gear and assembled in the Hangar, awaiting a final inspection from their CO.

"Companies, atten-_shun_!" Everyone instantly snapped to.

Commander Skye and Captain Falcanar briskly entered; the latter in dress uniform, the former the same.

The captain stood off to the side as Skye continued to the front of those assembled.

"I'm not going to go into a long speech, you all know how I dislike those," Skye began. "I know that many of you have suffered your own personal grief, your own pain. Many of us have lost loved ones in war and in this most recent-engagement. But despite this, this last week I have had the honor to work with many of the bravest people I have yet known. And I have full confidence that all of you will perform your duties flawlessly, to the letter. All of our futures depend on this one mission." And at that Skye crisply saluted the soldiers before him.

"Dismissed."

Pilots and crew hurriedly dispersed, making to their Craft as quickly as possible. Falsner climbed into his Stiletto F-121-AC cockpit, seeing Capris in the neighboring fighter do the same. He buckled on his helmet, now strapped into the seat, as the cockpit canopy was swung shut by a crewman.

He was through the relatively short flight checklist quickly, as were thee other five members of his squadron. Capris, Texas, Chuk-chuk, Valero, Raccoon. All of them were already cleared for takeoff.

"This is Bravo One, requesting launch clearance."

"Clearance granted, Bravo One." Flight Control responded. "You're cleared launch."

_

* * *

The Yoko__, above Pern_ Yoko

_A'rak, I cannot tell how big or far away it is._

"It's about eighteen kilometers long, twenty-one away." He had gotten those numbers from the console on the _Yoko's_ bridge before he left it. He also knew that he would be something that was stupid and risky. But considering the huge opportunity placed before him now, he was willing to take the risks.

He also found something else disturbing. The Yoko was only a few thousand feet long, but the Vessel was many times that, almost as large as many of the Ring Islands. It certainly seemed to be, at least. What purpose could such a ship serve?

He entered the cavernous Hangar and was at least glad that it was devoid of human life, if not dragon. Several of the noble creatures lay off to the side, two of which he recognized as Ramoth and Mnementh, the dragons of the Benden Weyrleaders. _I wonder how bad a punishment I'm going to get for this, _He thought.

_It can't be as bad as the last time you did something insane,_ His dragon replied. _Though you were lucky it was a gather and a marriage celebration._

_You sound like you're criticizing me._

A small utility room connected to the Hangar. It had originally been a storage room for the maintenance of space vehicles. But it was now used to store the pressure suits for excursions into space when necessary. There were about thirty in all, so A'rak hoped that no one would miss one while he borrowed it. He slipped the suit on as quietly as he could, doing his best not to wake the slumbering dragons in the neighboring room.

_A'rak, there is something happening_, his dragon said urgently.

_What is it?_

_The Vessel, it is changing, _Lageth replied.

_Let me see._

The crystal clear image of the Vessel sprang into A'rak's mind, as if he was seeing it himself, and not through Lageth. The image He saw was too startling to be believed.

Panels on the vessel's side were shifting, changing shape. Some slid out of place to expose strange objects or other equipment of some kind. Almost every surface of the vessel was brimming with sudden activity. The lighted image was changing too; some of the patterns shifted in appearance or disappeared. New ones appeared elsewhere.

_Lageth, meet me in the hangar, now._

The dragonrider, now in a full pressure suit, rushed from the compartment and hurried out into the middle of the hangar. Lageth suddenly appeared from _between_ gliding toward the deck, his huge bronze form touching down almost without any sound at all.

He was about to mount his dragon when the immense form of Ramoth suddenly rose from where she slept, alert and wide awake. For the briefest of moments, A'rak thought that he had been discovered. But he realized suddenly that it was something else that woke her

Lageth and Ramoth looked at each other a moment communicating unheard, telepathically. Then Lageth's huge bronze head swiveled back to look at his rider.

_Ramoth says that there is something happening, and that you should go to her rider._ He said.

"Tell Ramoth that I already know."

_I did. She said that her rider still wants you._

A'rak, still about to mount, now turned to the gold dragon. Mnementh too had woken, most likely in the same fashion as his mate.

"I am sorry, but tell your riders I am busy." He then turned and mounted Lageth, and together they lifted off and went _between_.

* * *

What is it doing now Harper?"

That was the phrase that had gotten old _very_ quickly in the last few minutes.

There were now what seemed like hundreds of people on the bridge now, and things were getting all the more confusing. Masterharper Sebell was trying to hold a dozen different conversations with a dozen different Lord Holders and Craftmasters. Amidst the noise of countless questions, journeymen running from console to console and an alarm somewhere sounding, a familiar voice shouted out.

"Well, we're gone for a while, and everything falls apart."

Two of the most important people Sebell could use help from at that moment had just walked onto the Bridge area, and into a room full of chaos and confusion. F'lar and Lessa, the Weyrleaders of Benden Weyr and perhaps two of the most important people Sebell could have ever hoped to see at that moment, had vust entered.

F'lar and Lessa's presence seemed to instill order in itself, as the entire room suddenly began to quiet as they entered. F'lar glanced at the new images of the Vessel and knew that the situation had begun to be far more serious. Lessa too, one look at the image and Sebell saw the same nervous look as F'lar.

"What, what is it?" He asked, now nervous himself.

"What is it? I certainly hope it's not what it's starting to look like," Lessa replied.

F'lar walked over to the monitor that displayed the image of the Vessel. "Sebell, you did read all of the records that AIVAS kept, did you not?

"I read most of the reports about Pern's early history, yes," Sebell replied, now sounding nervous himself. The others on the Bridge had all stopped what

"What about the ones before Pern, before the idea of this colony was even conceived?"

"Uh, no, not really, I only touched on those."

"Then you'd have no idea what is happening, do you?"

"No, I don't. Humor me."

Lessa began. "Some months ago I found reports about the old FSP stashed away in the databanks AIVAS kept. Reading these I found that many of the original colonists were survivors of an ancient, galactic war between Humans and another race, what were they called-" Lessa said, trying to remember.

"-The Nathis, I think," F'lar ended.

"Yes. But the point I am trying to get to is that I saw pictures of starships, others different that the _Yoko_. Ships built for the purpose of fighting this ancient war."

"So are you saying that this Vessel was one of those ships?"

No, the ones in the images were different. But parts of the Vessel now bear resemblance to those warships."

The Masterharper spun around to look at the image on the screen. "How so?"

F'lar began to speak now, in a faster pace. "The Vessel now bears what were called, back then at least, 'gun turrets', and a lot of them too. Weapons they put on spaceships to fight in space. The _Yoko_ never had any weaponry because this ancient war had already ended and because the _Yoko_ was only a colonizer."

"But there are no other ships here for it to fight," the Master said."

"Are you so sure then? You're standing on one. But if it wanted to attack us it would have done so by now. Or it could just have been gauging our actions and waiting for us to move first. Or and I fear I may be right, it is after a much bigger target."

"Like what?" Sebell asked, now very nervous. Everyone else was simply frozen where they stood, captivated by the conversation they were witness to.

"Well, it might simply attack Pern directly." Lessa said. "It certainly appears to have the capacity to do so. From its current orbit it could make a pretty big chunk of the Southern Continent unlivable-"

The Weyrwoman was suddenly interrupted by a seemingly louder-than normal alert klaxon, sounding from the radar station. The person stationed there, as almost everyone else, snapped out of a daze. The operator began typing frantically, trying to find something on the console.

"There's a new contact, off the starboard bow," the operator said, frantically. "Just appeared there. It's closing fast."

"Towards us?" Sebell asked, half shouting.

"No. It appears to be moving towards the Vessel, not us."

Everyone, Lord Holders, Craft Masters and Journeymen, Dragonriders, all moved towards the windows of the Yoko's Bridge, trying to find what was coming.

The images of the chaos and destruction over roughly the next short half-hour would forever be etched permanently into their minds. And they would watch this almost helplessly from their sole foothold in space.

They would also realize that there really were bigger fish in the pond next door after all. But fortunately, not all of them were completely alien.

* * *

_Well, that's a wrap. Should have another update very soon, hopefully sooner then the last._


	5. Chapter 5

_Well hello everybody, I'm back with the next update here. It looks like the story is finally getting some action, or will in the next chapter after this. Well here's Chapter 5. Enjoy.

* * *

_

**ATTACK**

_The immense form of the T'Hranii battlecruiser glided silently through space, silently towards its ultimate goal._

_The world that was the third in the Rukbat system was no longer a mere dot against the background of space but was now a looming sphere, continents and the one lone ocean and countless islands all clearly visible. Also, from its current vector of approach, it was able to visibly confirm the two starships in orbit above the third world._

_The ancient colonizer only further confirmed the Minds' suspicions of this being a mere colony. They scanned the data acquired from previous excursions into Human space and found references of vessels similar to it. Such colony ships were from an age in the distant past of Terran history, and were completely unarmed. The Minds would have no trouble dealing with it._

_But they were still wary of the huge freighter/battleship that loomed nearer and nearer, its mere presence seemingly, incomprehensibly, instilling a shred of fear into them. The freighter would be able to destroy both themselves and their carefully laid plans with relative ease if it were given the chance._

_But with a bit of timing, initiative, and coordination, even such a vessel as this could be destroyed itself with ease. Hopefully, they thought, nothing would go wrong._

_At that moment, a pair of large panels on opposite sides of the battlecruiser slid open, exposing bare, unlit shafts into the interior. In unison, four groups of twelve T'Hranii starfighters flew stealthed from the shafts. The fighters quickly separated into their assigned patterns for this phase of the plan._

_After the fighters departed, the next step in the Plan occurred. The large wingtips of the alien battlecruiser separated from the wings. They were not wingtips at all but their own full starships of their own accord. The new ships quickly pulled away from the main body and, under their own protective cloaking field and guiding hand from a Hive Mind, approached the surface of the planet below, unseen and unexpected._

_They concluded that if they had gotten this far in their grand plan and so far nothing had happened, then they were safe._

_They spoke, or rather thought, far too soon._

_A malfunction or fluctuation of some kind in a part of the main supply grid that had a questionable reliability, caused a temporary loss of power to the stealth field generators, the precious pieces of hardware that were so much relied upon. Though the loss was compensated for in a mere fraction of a second, the effect was profound. _

_Even though it would not even be visible to the naked eye, the most sensitive of radars would have detected the T'Hranii ship. Though the old colonizer possessed only basic sensor equipment, a mere second later this was proved._

_What was once a docile, seemingly unarmed and unmanned transport was quickly becoming a very powerful warship, bristling with firepower. Its very surface seemed to morph and melt, exposing the dangerous armaments so carefully concealed. It had seen the T'Hranii starship, in an obvious way, and was now taking its own precautions._

_How would a human say it? A monkey wrench had been thrown into their plans. Yes, that phrase seemed appropriate._

_In a matter of minutes The Hive Minds had calculated dozens of possible scenarios, countless outcomes, and many different new battle plans to compensate for this unexpected development. But regardless at what minor adjustments they made, or changes introduced, only one of plans seemed to offer a better shot then the others at continuing its plan._

_So this plan was simply set in motion._

_Its former course would have taken it near both ships, across and above their beams. But if the Freighter saw them again it would likely simply fire in that general direction until it scored hits. And the stealth bubble would simply collapse under a few kinetic impacts. The T'Hranii now aimed their ship towards the stern of the freighter to get behind it, where the enormous vessel was vulnerable._

_Moments later, when The T'Hranii cruiser was finally in position, where it would be able to do the most damage the most quickly, it dropped its cloak._

_The power that had been flowing to the cloak was suddenly diverted and split between the forward shielding and the primary beam weapon. It quickly began to charge to its minimal energy requirement. The freighter would have detected it by now. Then suddenly the Minds detected the sudden buildup of energy in the freighters' aft shields as well as in its huge engines._

_The Minds could wait no longer. As the shielding on the freighter reached the maximum level of power and its enormous FTL engines began to spool up, the T'Hranii's own powerful beam cannon fired._

_

* * *

Second Fleet, 1101 hours, 39 A.U.s from Rukbat Prime _

In a flurry, the fighter pilots of the 498th and their Marine charges flew out of the gaping maw of the _Sargasso's_ fighter hangar.

The first wave of fighters was the elite Bloodtail Squadron, led by Lieutenant Falsner. They were followed in succession by Luger Squadron, then Image. Eighteen Stilettos quickly tightened from a loose formation around the Escort Destroyer _C.T.S. Firecross_, Their escort that would take them into the Alpha Sagittarius system and escort the _Monolith_ back to the fleet's present position. Or at least hopefully. He had only heard of Jean Philippe Diet, the ship's Captain only recently at the main briefing. But he had heard that he was a bit eccentric, to a point.

Barely seconds after the first three Fighter wings had launched, a trio of heavy SHRAC Type 2 Assault Ships rocketed from the Hangar, each carrying a cargo of twenty Marines, three platoons altogether. This would be the Landing party that would board the _Monolith_. Falsner knew from his Academy days that a single round of AA in the right spot on a Shrac would disable it. He hoped that they wouldn't run into trouble, for the Marines' sake.

The final wing, Sphinx Squadron, launched next, flying not Stilettos or Shracs but the few remaining Vanguard bombers aboard the _Sargasso_, each nearly twice the size of a Stiletto. The Vanguards were also more heavily armored and carried a massive payload of weaponry, but lacked the speed and maneuverability that Falsner preferred. He would rather die gracefully than a slow-moving bull's-eye.

The small craft, their numbers now at twenty-seven, packed tightly around the _Firecross_, wings and wingtips no more than feet from the hull of the destroyer. The pilots all knew, for the most part, that despite the fact that they'll have traversed half the system, they wouldn't have moved an inch in relation to the destroyer or each other. Falsner had executed a deepspace jump in a fighter cockpit only once before, and didn't particularly cherish the idea of being in shitblack nothing even if only for a few seconds.

A voice crackled over the Comm. It was from the _Firecross_. "Deepspace jump in t-minus sixty seconds. All craft, prepare for jump."

Deepspace. It was the exact polar opposite of hell. It was anyone's guess on the exact temperature, but the general consensus was that it was in the far negative. Falsner didn't exactly know who developed it or anything about the history of the technology, only that it was first employed during the Farbanti Rebellion. Electromagnetically shielded starships were resistant to the effects of this parallel dimension, but lack that and all input from your five senses is subdued for the duration. He had gone through that hell once, on that covert op two years before. He had not been planning on it again.

Lt. Falsner then called over the private line. "Hey Valero, you done this before?"

"Hell no. you?"

"Yeah, once. Just count to ten when it hits you."

"What hits you?"

"Sir," it was Texas. "They said that if you went through this you counted to eight back at the Academy."

"We're not at the Academy anymore. This shit is real."

Lt. Nassau "Redeye" Valero had grown up in the homeworlds, light years and light years away. He had never asked her about her family, if she even had one. All he knew about her was from a psychological evaluation report, something about her being traumatized in the past. And, as Falsner had often noticed, preferred deep meditation to standard recreational activities.

Pt. Armani Thurst, a.k.a. "Raccoon". The callsign was derived from the enormous black rimmed glasses he first wore back in the Academy days that made him resemble the earth creature. He was normally mild-mannered and not outspoken, but, next to Capris, was one of his most trusted wingmen. And he was one of the best tacticians Falsner had ever met, graduating first of 205 in the Strategic Class. He had originally been nicknamed "Bloodthirst", But another pilot already had that nickname in the NIP, So Raccoon it was.

Pt. Jerome "Texas" Winston was a departure from his other pilots. He had grown up on the vast and wealthy New Texas mining colony. He had a big sister that smoked cigars and had won numerous weightlifting contests, or so he claimed. He would bet on anything, from how far a missile would fly before it exploded to how long could hold it after drinking six bottles of that Vegan Rot Gut the Bloodtails had won days before. Too bad no one else but Falsner himself knew the truth about that.

The voice returned. "Thirty seconds to jump."

Private Varik "Chuk-Chuk" King. He had gotten his callsign from the sound that some of the antique guns in his fathers' supposed collection made. The sound a "shotgun" made when you loaded it or something like that. He was the only one in his group whose family he had met; His parents were both self-made entrepreneurs in the space construction field, and had wanted their only son to follow them in their trades before he had been recruited into the Project. Falsner had learned that sometime after his "recruitment",Varik's parents were conscripted into armed action and had been killed on the frontlines of Farbanti. Varik was still getting over that loss, but he never showed it.

The last, but not least, of his pilots, was Lt. Amata "Aqua" Capris. Along with himself, Colonel Skye, and Lt. Parker from Image Squadron, they were the only four remaining 1st Gens. Almost all of the surviving pilots left in the group were either second or third Gen, and all of them were rookies. Capris possessed a strange aura of mystery all her own, and had used that to her advantage in the past. She was the first and only person that Falsner cared for in a way more than as a mere friend.

"Ten seconds to jump, stand by," The voice again.

Abruptly a radio operator burst in over the general channel, fro the _Sargasso_. "Attention all designated operation ships, we are detecting anomalous energy readings from the planet. Request hold on the-"

Then it hit them all, a full six seconds ahead of schedule. The murky nothingness of that dimension beneath their own swallowed Falsner, his fellow flyers, and the _Firecross_ all at once. Those aboard the destroyer noticed little as they traversed the distance. The Electromagnetic shields absorbed the effects of the region.

The same could not be said for the pilots and marines outside in their own craft. To them, subspace was a total removal of all sensory input, as if they had just been sucked into hell, a frozen, darkened hell nonetheless as the only thing any of them could feel was an excruciating, mind-numbing cold.

Falsner had decided the last time he had gone through it that if there was a Hell; he'd evict the devil to here to mellow him out.

And as instantly as it had happened, they were out of it, and very near the third planet.

But as Falsner saw the new input his sensors were providing to him, his blood suddenly ran cold. It ran colder as he heard the expletives and shock of his fellow wingmen over the Comm.

"Holy-"

"What the hell is-"

"Oh shit!"

And suddenly Falsner began to wish he had stayed in deepspace.

"Control, Control," he heard over the Comm, from the _Firecross_. "I think we need fire support from the _Leningrad_. We've just waltzed into a fricking warzone!"

* * *

A'rak, now outside the _Yoko_, was about to go _between_ with his dragon when the second Vessel appeared, _behind_ the first. He had been startled, and waited what seemed like turns for that to do something. When it did do something, and A'rak had the briefest of glimpses of the brightest flashes of light he had ever seen before his Lageth took them both _between_, saving them both from being cooked to a crisp.

Those on the bridge of the _Yoko_ were witness to one of the most spectacular fireworks displays they could have ever had the hope to see, right before they were all thrown from their feet as the energy shockwave rolled over the ship. In the Hangar bay of the _Yoko_, A half-dozen dragons were instantly thrown from where they lay when the deck fell and rolled beneath them, their wings flaring to keep balance, their roars of surprise echoing almost throughout the ship. A great bronze dragon was thrown clear into the air, his right wing slamming into the ceiling bulkhead brutally. The sound of sharp cracks on the moment of the impact could be heard clearly above the roars.

Many thousands in and around Landing and the surrounding regions at the time were suddenly startled as a brilliant flash, so bright it blinded anyone who had seen it at that moment, lit up the evening sky. A great many in the most distant areas thought that another meteor was about to impact Pern like the one just barely a few years before, completely unaware of what was really happening. For minutes, even hours afterward, the supercharged atmosphere glowed with its own electrical light, bright enough to read text by.

The massive release of energy ripped along Pern's atmosphere in a gigantic ring, away from the source. People across both continents witness an incredible show of auroral lights as the gases ionized, shimmering colors of red, green, and blue. To many who had not been far north where this event was normally isolated, they thought that the spirits of dragons had somehow returned.

Millions on Pern, human and dragon alike, could not explain these events, and many simply could not understand or comprehend what was happening to all of them right at that moment.

Masterharper Sebell shakily pulled himself to his feet, dimly aware that something was burning. He couldn't see right, and realized that there was an open gash above his right eye that was bleeding profusely. Sebell looked around at the people around him, most of which were still on the floor, moaning in pain or struggling to get up. How many were on board last? Fifty or sixty? How many healers? He couldn't remember the numbers.

The entire ship had darkened, the EMP effect knocking out every piece of electronic equipment on board the _Yokohama_. Every deck and chamber aboard had been plunged into darkness, the only sources of light being windows out into space. Several of the consoles on the bridge had been fried by the blast, and issued smoke. Some flickered still, a few tiny fires burning somewhere within them.

It was then that Sebell remembered what had caused this chaos. The primary monitor display was blacked out, so he half-walked, half-dragged himself back to a Bridge window and looked out.

The Second Vessel had fired some kind of weapon of some kind at the First, but the First Vessel had not been destroyed or even damaged. Instead, it was slowly turning around, attempting to focus as much of its own weapon fire as possible at the more nimble Second, which in turn fired back. The flashes of light exchanged between the two ships as they engaged in their deadly macabre dance almost mesmerized the Masterharper.

A small hand clamped down suddenly on his shoulder. He somehow knew it was Weyrwoman Lessa.

"Masterharper, are you okay?" It was all he heard, he was dazed from just everything happening around him.

"I-I'm fine, help the others," He managed to say.

"They're being helped, you need to be also."

Someone had come up to them, and Sebell dimly recognized the person as a Lord Holder, but couldn't attach a name to the face. "What-what happened?" the Holder asked, half in shock.

"I really don't know, all of this, that, that…" he briefly gestured in the direction of the battle raging outside in space before collapsing to a heap on the floor.

"Is he dead?" The Holder asked.

No, he is not." She kneeled down to take a closer look. "But this bleeding will not stop on its own, he needs stitching."

Another person rushed over, seeing the Masterharper on the ground. Lessa recognized it as one of the two journeymen she had questioned earlier. She recalled her name was Ceras.

"Is Sebell okay? Is he-"

"No he isn't dead. I think he just passed out."

Ceras took one look at Sebell's face. "But he'll need treatment on that gash."

"Then help your master, I think I'm needed elsewhere." With that, she left the Bridge.

Lessa found that F'lar wasn't on the bridge when she had recovered herself, and for a moment tried to figure out where he went when her dragon burst into her mind, half screaming.

_Lessa, Mnementh is hurt, he is hurt bad_, was all she could understand.

_Slow down, Ramoth, what happened?_ Lessa asked her dragon.

_When the ship moved, He smashed a wing on a wall._

_Is F'lar there?_

_He is, he is with Mnementh._

Lessa was worried for a moment. She hoped the injury wasn't too severe.

* * *

The last thing F'lar had remembered, other than a brilliant flash of light and his head hitting something solid after strangely flying through the air, was waking up to a screaming voice and a severe pain in his right wing. Only he didn't have a right wing, or a left one for that matter, and realized it was from his dragon Mnementh.

He had clambered over bodies, some moaning in pain, others trying to get up themselves, in a blind rush to reach the Bridge exit, and get to the hangar as quickly as possible. He didn't remember reaching the hangar normally; only that he was suddenly there, by his dragon's side, soothing him. He dimly remembered the dragons' innate ability to instantly move things, but he was overwhelmed by the pain of his lifemate to remember anything other than him.

_Its, okay, its okay, I'm here_, he had said, over and over again, how many times he could never remember. He also didn't remember how Lessa, his weyrmate, had suddenly gotten there, only that she too was there by his side. And then, all at once, he had suddenly blacked out, into the seemingly welcomed relief of unconsciousness.

Lessa saved F'lar from hitting the floor like Sebell did, the dragonrider probably suffering from a concussion also. The Yoko suddenly shuddered again, but not with near as much force as previous. Several riders were there now, trying to find some way to help. Lessa had only been fortunate not to have been seriously injured like many others.

"Listen, take care of the injured, I may be needed elsewhere," Lessa suddenly said, ordering the other riders.

One, a blue rider, glanced at the injured bronze, then at its incapacitated rider, then up to Lessa. "And you Lady, what will you do?"

"I am going to find out what the shards is going on out there."

And with those words, Lessa turned and hurried back to the exit to the Hangar and back up to the bridge.

* * *

_Hmm, wonder what's gonna go bang or boom in the next chapter, who lives and who dies. stay alerted and you'll find out. Till then, later._


	6. Chapter 6

_Well I, Mr. Mercenary, am back with the next update to the story. This is the chapter where the different sides become aware of another, but only expect some minor language, a warning just to be safe. Well, here's Chapter six.

* * *

_

**BATTLE**

_The Minds had to admit it to themselves. For a moment, they were actually impressed with the decisiveness of the AI aboard the superfreighter._

_By flooding its enormous antimatter drive engines with fuel well past any safe level, to the point where a burst of energy flooded out all at once, the freighter had canceled out their own beam weapon. The combined energy discharges instead radiated outwards in an enormous, visible ring, away from the dueling starships. The freighter took a risk at blowing out or even destroying its own engines to protect itself._

_And now that freighter, as the humans would describe it, was clearly 'pissed off.'_

_It quickly began to attempt to swivel its immense bulk to a more suitable position where its dozens of railguns and heavy batteries could have a clear shot at the enemy battlecruiser._

_The Ship Mind began to counter-move the freighter, maneuvering and keeping itself below and to the left of the freighter/battleship, where the fewest shots could reach it. It unleashed on the freighter with its own armament, its enormous plasma weapons capable of destroying a fair sized ship with relative ease. But a mix of swarms of chemically ignited magnetic rails and flurries of torpedoes made any decisive shot at the freighter difficult, if not impossible. The Ship Mind could only counter with a few shots at a time from its deck plasma cannons._

_And suddenly, all at once, the Minds had a brand-new problem to face: The remnants of the Human Fleet around their former base had arrived at last, appearing suddenly and out of nowhere._

_The Minds suddenly realized that their perfect plan had had a flaw in it: The Plan called for the entire fleet to be present, not bits and pieces of it. It was a crucial mistake, they realized, a mistake that could cost them dearly unless dealt with properly and immediately._

_The starfighter Mind now took direct control of the ships it now commanded. It decided that if it was not possible to fight the stranded Humans all at once, then a few at a time would suffice, albeit time-consuming._

_The T'Hranii fighters now maneuvered towards the incoming Human vessels, waiting for the right moment to strike. The Ship and Bomber Minds could deal with their own objectives themselves. So now it analyzed the targets presented to it: A single lone destroyer, with a fairly large entourage of starfighters and other craft. _

_The Fighter Mind calculated that the destroyer could be neutralized with several hits amidships, just forward of the superstructure. But that would require several fighters, as each only had a single heavy photon bomb equipped. The fighter escorts on the other hand, could be dealt with ease. The best plan of attack would be to deal with them in one-on-one or two-on-one combat. The Fighter Mind foresaw no problems, as long as the Human destroyer was neutralized early in the fight, and if it held the element of surprise._

_As for the Bomber Mind, its mission was clear: destroy as much of the Human infrastructure on the planet's surface as physically possible. _

_If you could call what they had infrastructure. The Minds' scan had discovered something startling. Not only were the humans very few in number, only about seven million across the entire world, but they had regressed. Their technology level had receded back to their earliest days of their civilization, and despite their being some evidence of recent advancements, it was still not enough to combat the pair of frigates._

_The Bomber Mind formed a relatively simple battle plan. One ship would move for the northernmost landmass on the planet and the other for the large southern one. This was going to be too easy. Perhaps it was a bit lucky itself to be given such a simple task in comparison to the others._

_As the T'Hranii vessels began to fight their indicated targets, they mostly ignored altogether the clouds of meteor-like orbs beginning to fall on the planet below, completely unaware of their terrible power to destroy._

_

* * *

Second Fleet, 1108 hours, in orbit above Rukbat 3 _

Falsner couldn't believe what he was seeing with his own eyes. An enormous Crosseye battlecruiser, currently fighting it out with their primary target, which was huge itself by comparison. And the voices still flooded over the Comm.

"Hey, those Crosseye assholes are trashing our target-"

"Oh my freaking-"

"I repeat, this is the _Firecross_, we need reinforcement, we are about to engage-"

Suddenly a new voice broke in above the chatter. It was Colonel Skye. "Calling all vessels, calling all vessels. There is confirmed one Crosseye battlecruiser in the area, possibly other enemy vessels. New orders are standing until further notice. Luger and Sphinx Squadrons, escort the dropships to the RV, Bloodtail and Image squadrons, protect the _Firecross_ at all costs. Good luck."

"You heard the man,"Falsner shouted in the Comm. "Move, move, move!"

Falsner knew it was hopeless for him to take on a battlecruiser with even an entire squadron backing him up. But it seemed they may not have to worry about engaging the cruiser, it appeared to be preoccupied at the moment avoiding the brunt of the superfreighter's assault.

The three dropships wasted no time themselves in making for the freighter, looming ever closer now. The two squadrons eyed the rapidly nearing cruiser with a wary eye. Another two squadrons plus one destroyer continued to approach at a slower pace, in the event of necessary fire support.

And then, as if on cue, all hell broke loose.

Seemingly out of hell itself, a trio of torpedoes appeared from nowhere, aimed directly at the destroyer.

The destroyer had just barely raised its shields when the torpedoes hit. The electromagnetic shielding was simply dispersed by the missiles as they careened into their target, piercing the armor plating and ripping deep into the ship.

Thee first torpedo ripped into and detonated in the Engineering section, killing the Chief Engineer and over three dozen engineering officers and crew. The second tore through the infirmary, killing several medical staff and the two patients present when it detonated.

But the third and final torpedo was the straw that broke the _Firecross_.

It ripped into the torpedo armament, well forward in the ship's bow section, and into the storage compartment, before exploding. Almost a hundred crewmembers and officers were killed instantly as the entire bow section blew outwards in all directions, sending jagged chunks of hyperdense steel and melted bulkheads out into the immediate space.

The _Firecross,_ crippled by the swift and brutal attack, was finished. As Falsner and others gazed on, a small number of escape pods launched from the ruined ship, and out into space.

He heard someone go hysterical on the Comm. "Holy freaking shit, there must have been two hundred people on that crate, and they just, they just-"

The line abruptly went dead as a fighter suddenly exploded in Falsner's near vicinity, perforated by plasma blasts.

"Shit!" Hawkins screamed over the Comm. "We just lost the _Firecross_, I repeat, we just lost our freaking destroyer escort! Shit!" Hawkins' fighter took hits, damaging its engines.

"What the hell is our radar support doing, whacking off?" Falsner screamed. "Return fire dammit! CTS _Sargasso_, request scan the EM spectrum for anomalies, we're fighting blind here-"

He had barely gotten the words out of his mouth when his own fighter shuddered under several blasts. He glanced out over to his port wing and saw a line of white-hot spots perforating the carbon-composite armor, signature of the T'Hranii plasma weapons.

He jerked the starfighter hard to the left, narrowly avoiding the burst of fire that came from somewhere from above him. As the exterior became a blur for a brief moment, He momentarily glimpsed the translucent silhouette of one of their sleek Blade starfighters, before it vanished from his field of view.

"Dammit, I repeat, we are engaging the enemy! Where the hell is our radar support?"

"This is Skye, your new orders are to cover the _Firecross_ until the remains of her crew can get away safely, and to engage any threat. Standby for radar support."

"By asking politely, how the hell long do you think we can last without it before were all fricking smoked?" Falsner shouted back.

"Capris, Texas, you're to investigate an anomaly at the sent coordinates that has been detected, further orders upon investigation. Out."

"In the middle of a freaking battle?" Texas shouted to no one across the Comm.

"You heard him, do it," Falsner himself ordered.

* * *

_CTS Sargasso, 1120 hours, 39 AUs from Rukbat Prime, Command Bridge_

The Comm became flooded with shouting and screaming voices, some demanding, some distressed.

"Dammit, my port engine's fried!"

"I can't see the bastards, where are they?"

This is Image Three, I've been hit!"

Come on you Crosseye frackers, I can take you all-"

The mood on the Bridge of the Sargasso had become frantic in the last few moments as they began to realize the true nature of the developments. The _Firecross_, one of the finest escort destroyers ever built, had been defeated already and the battle had barely begun. The loss would mean that the fighter squadrons would have no fire or radar support, leaving them vulnerable. Until the _Leningrad_, their missile cruiser, charged up its own Deepspace Jump Drive which would take another two minutes at the very least, the fighter pilots were, more or less, on their own for the moment.

And there was an additional mystery, one that left all of their techs scratching their heads. And Colonel Skye had taken an interest in it.

The long range scans indicated the presence of an additional mystery ship, one that could not be identified as any known type. What the scans could tell was that it was in geosynchronous orbit, and only about twenty kilometers from the battle. It would have a front-row seat to the battle now beginning to truly unfold.

Captain Falcanar's only concern for the moment, Skye noted, was to ensure the safety of the superfreighter and its cargo of much needed antimatter fuel.

Without a destroyer to guard, his two fighter squadrons were temporarily directionless, until He gave the new orders. He neglected to mention that the 'anomaly' was a ship of some kind. If it was anything, it was probably some stranded survivor from the Tzu 32 incident like the ships of the Fleet were.

He had considered putting more fighters into the nearby warzone with the _Leningrad_ when it jumped, but dismissed it immediately, knowing that his best cards were already on the table. Rookie fighter pilots would only get in the way or be slaughtered.

Hopefully, Skye thought, this 'mystery ship' would turn out to be, 'interesting', at the very least.

_

* * *

_

The Yoko_, above Pern_

The power had been restored to the ship when Lessa reached the bridge. Although many were too injured to get up and around on their own, some were still trying to move to the window ports, to get a better view.

The Vessels were dangerous, Lessa thought. They hadn't even attacked the Yoko directly and had already caused all of this damage. Both F'lar and his dragon were out for the time being, the Yoko had been damaged, and a lot of other people were seriously hurt, including the Masterharper.

The battle raged out in nearby space, the large black monolithic Vessel fighting the small, sleek, reddish hued Vessel, and neither gaining a clear advantage. Never in all her turns had she ever thought that she would see things like this. She had read the old battle reports in the AIVAS databanks, how there was a vast war with an alien race called the 'Nathis', and how the original Pern colonists were involved.

And now these two alien ships, neither of which were anything like the ships in the old earth reports, were dueling above her planet, above her world, and endangering everything she knew.

She made her way to a trio of Harper Journeymen, who all stood over a newly resurrected console display, and were chattering excitedly with one another. They weren't even aware Lessa had entered the Bridge area until she had announced herself.

"Well what is it now? Did those things out in space destroy something else?"

One of the three, a short and stocky man whose shoulder knots indicated he was from Igen Hold. "It is not what was destroyed, Weyrwoman, but what has appeared." He gestured at the display.

"What do you mean by that?" Lessa asked, startled. What new horrors would this bring?

The other two, who she realized were Jenga and Ceras, the two who were originally aboard. Ceras' right arm was in a sling, but Jenga was, incredibly, uninjured.

"Sometime after that initial blast that put the _Yoko_ in this horrid state, Several more vessels of some kind appeared., then only minutes later the largest exploded, and those left started making strange," and the stocky Igen man struggled for the words for a moment, "movements, like they were dragons fighting Thread."

Lessa stepped up at the panel, trying to decipher the dots and symbols that flashed across the screen. The clusters of dots, roughly two dozen altogether, left arcs and loops one second at a time on the screen. And they had separated into groups; One heading towards the two warring Vessels, the other group staying behind.

And then, as the Weyrwoman studied the patterns, she realized that they weren't normal patterns, they were fighting, exactly like dragons. What they were fighting was beyond both her and the Yoko's sensor equipment.

"Listen," Lessa said, half shouting. "Get everyone on board the _Yoko_ off. Many of them are injured so tell the ones that can get about to move the ones that can't. Bring them to the Hangar; the dragons will take them back to the surface."

"Everyone, even us?" Jenga asked.

"Everyone but those needed. This ship is in grave danger, as is all of Pern. Now do it."

"Yes, my lady." The Harper knew better than to go against a weyrwoman's orders.

As the Harper moved around the bridge, telling the injured they had to go. Lessa turned back to the images on the screen in front of her. If the Vessels were human in origin, than there might be humans on them.

This meant that, despite a very likely language barrier, they could be contacted somehow, by some means.

"Ceras, does the _Yoko_ have any of that radio equipment from the Smithcrafthall?"

The young Harper turned around, from helping a fellow injured Harper to his feet. "Better. The Yoko still has the original equipment from when she was built. But I already checked it. It is still broken after that blast damaged everything."

_Well it was worth a thought at least_, Lessa thought.

_Let me try to talk to them_, her dragon suddenly spoke up.

_Do you think you can?_ She asked back.

_It may not be possible, but I can at least try_, Her Ramoth replied, confident.

* * *

For the moment, A'rak and his bronze Lageth were safe, if only for the briefest of moments. The ad-hoc idea of getting an up close and personal wit the enormous black Vessel had become a quest to stay alive.

When they had went _between_ right before the massive blast, they came out not on the surface of Pern, or it the hangar bay of the Yoko, but right next to the enormous black Vessel, which was in fact, very rough. Not smooth at all as it appeared from a distance. Its surface was textured enough for his dragon to get a grip on with his claws.

They had sheltered themselves next to one of the massive structures that had appeared on the first Vessel's surface moments before the second vessel appeared. The thing was absolutely enormous, the base many dragonlengths around. The thing's head had massive protuberances that flashed brightly at a very rapid pace, and turned to keep them pointed at the Second Vessel.

The Second Vessel was enormous also. Even from a distance it looked menacing, dangerous. It too flashed back in many places, as if the two vessels were somehow communicating. It was mostly a dark blood red, with black seams crisscrossing its surface, like seams between bricks.

_Lageth, can you still see those lights you saw?_ He said to his dragon.

_Yes. They are still there. There is a cluster not far from where we are now._

_How long before you have to breathe?_

_Not long. I will need to very soon._

_Then lets-_ And then A'rak noticed a strange sight off in space through the viewpiece of his pressure suit.

What appeared to be a formation of dragons was moving towards the First Vessel, at a high rate of speed. From the _Yoko_ perhaps?

But as they approached, he noticed that they were much smaller then dragons and they didn't move like them either. These things were different from the present vessels but somehow similar. They were like miniature Vessels, much faster and more agile then their larger counterparts.

_Lageth, do you see those?_

_Yes I do._

_Watch them. If they start moving towards us or attack us, let's go _between_ immediately back to Ista._

_Okay, I understand._ His dragon said.

And with that, the rider and dragon eyed and watched everything happening around them, both knowing that no one else anywhere had a view like this.

* * *

_I could just say "to be continued", but where would the fun be if I could not foreshadow things to come at the end of each chapter? Expect lots more action in the future, and a few twists along the way. Keep it real until then._


	7. Chapter 7

_Had to update sooner or later. This is starting to get good, with little peeks through the cracks here and there. I have made some minor changes and improvements to this chapter, to help with the flow. A few things are now better understood, and I also corrected a couple of misspellings. This is Chapter Seven._

**NOTE: I do not own the DRoP Series by Anne McCaffrey.

* * *

**

**FIRES**

_The ambush on the unsuspecting human starship had been a brilliant assault; it had both disoriented and dispersed the remaining human fighter craft, and it had left them vulnerable to further attack._

_The Fighter Mind now concentrated on the remaining human craft, some of which were attempting to take evasive action against assailants they could not see, even for the moment. Those craft that had not already been detected by their scanner/radars would simply wait until the most opportune time to attack. Although the Fighter Mind had only lost those craft that attacked the human destroyer, it would not take any more chances with casualties._

_When the Fighter Mind discovered that there were also humans on the orbiting colonizer above the nearby planet, it decided to take an additional move of its own. It redirected its lone remaining completely cloaked fighter group to attack and destroy the starship, which was in fact not only weakened by the energy surge earlier but currently, and puzzlingly on a closer look, lacked engine equipment. It would be no match against a single plasma warhead missile, let alone a swarm of them. The bladefighters shot off toward their new objective, undetected._

_The Ship mind was still engaged in the heated battle to notice much of anything else happening around it. The freighter/battleship was relentless in its maddening objective to destroy the 'pest' it no doubt considered the T'Hranii battlecruiser to be. The ship also apparently had an inexhaustible supply of munitions at its disposal, as there was no pause, change, or break in the onslaught that was being directed at itself._

_The Ship Mind then detected a group of the human starfighters that had made an apparent grand entrance; they were speeding flat out for the freighter/battleship, the enormous black vessel apparently oblivious to the approaching ships. They must be seeking cover behind the powerful shielding of the freighter, the Mind thought._

_In that case, the Mind decided that the stray vessels would never reach the safety they no doubt sought. And it decided to test a new weapon, one that had yet to be fielded._

_At that moment a small number of fast, compact objects swooped from the port launch shaft, too small to be piloted fighters, too large to be missiles. They were in fact powerful autonomous drones, designed for suicide and hit and run attacks. They lacked any stealth equipment, but were more than maneuverable enough to avoid enemy fire._

_In unison, the half-dozen drone fighters raced towards the fleeing human fighter squadrons._

_The Bomber Mind had moved both of its own vessels into the atmosphere of the human inhabited world, and it began to feel greatly overconfident._

_It found that there were no ground-based defenses whatsoever. No laser defense grid; no missile interception systems, not even atmospheric fighter squadrons. The planet presented before it was a proverbial dream come true: The world below was totally and completely defenseless, save for the remnants of the human starfighters above that would soon be wiped out._

_The attack runs for each of the frigates had been plotted out based on the planet's ideal topography. The first would sweep north, first to the large island just south of the northern continent, and begin there. After destroying the largest of the human settlements on the isle, it would sweep further north across the land, all the while dispersing its special biological toxin jettisoned from canisters in the nose of the triangular ships, capable of killing humans in a matter of seconds._

_The other frigate would sweep westward along the southern continent, destroying the majority of the settlements along the coastline, where the largest portion of the population resided. Any stragglers would fall victim to the frigate's own powerful biotoxin. The whole operation would be conducted with ease, and within as little as a single day. The only problem foreseen was possible intermittent interference from the widespread auroral activity taking place in the atmosphere, but would likely be a nuisance at the most. They were well aware of the effects of their beam cannons, and how to counteract them._

_So the Minds, secure and confident in an easy victory, continued on with their plans._

_

* * *

_

_2nd Fleet, 1114 hundred hours, above Rukbat 3_

As much as they didn't want to admit it, Lt. Nicolai Traska and Lt. Mathias Hawkins were about to be in a bit of a jam.

The docking access codes that had been given to them by Captain Falcanar, the codes he claimed that would open the enormous Nanodoors that allowed access to the cargo bays, were being refused by the docking computers. Unless they got the codes to work, or the doors to open, they were going to get it from the still cloaked bladefighters still no doubt lurking out there in space.

One of the Marine assault teams had an engineer trained in the fine art of hacking, and he was now patched into the _Monolith's_ systems, busily penetrating the layers of security around the freighter's outer subsystems.

"Any progress?" Hawkins half shouted into the Comm. The gaping door was now getting larger, and they were still nowhere near inside it.

"Negative, that Vegan code is complex, its going to take some time," The Marine commander, a burly Centauran from the Homeworlds by the name of Major Hans Crowell, said back.

"Your guy has exactly five minutes to get us inside that fricking ship or we're all as good as dead."

"My man is making progress; he almost has it nailed down."

"Tell him to get it nailed down right now o he's gonna be nailing down our coffin lid," We're gonna be taking fire anytime now-"

"Hawkins," Lt. Traska, the badass Luger wingleader, had suddenly interrupted. "I've got six bogeys on radar, coming in fast, they might be fighters."

Hawkins glanced at his bomber's own radar. A number of small dots had appeared from the radar shadow of the enormous freighter from the general direction of the battlecruiser. But on a second look, he realized they were too small and fast to be fighters. Guided missiles perhaps? Not likely, they were much larger than what missiles had been seen from the Crosseye side so far.

They were an Uncertainty. And Uncertainties made people like Hawkins very nervous.

"Major, tell your computer expert to open that door right the hell now, we're about to fricking engage!"

* * *

Lieutenant Falsner was in the fight of his life.

He was going one on one with a Crosseye bladefighter, something he had only ever done in a simulator, and now he was fighting the real thing, which was, in fact, far more difficult. He hauled back on the stick, flipping his craft around in a tight loop to stay beaded in on his target. He lined up the crosshair and strafed the bladefighter with a burst of slugs from his rail cannon.

A brief flash and the bladefighter began to drift; it was a first kill on a Crosseye.

"I got one!"

"Same here, these bastards are smart." Raccoon, ever the risk-taker.

"How many more of them?" One of the fliers from the Image squadron, Falsner couldn't remember his name.

Keep blasting their asses, we'll find out soon enough," He himself said back, cynically. He circled to his right, scanning his surroundings for his next target.

This was like the Farbanti Conflicts; the thrill of flying by the seat of your pants, the rush of adrenaline. And no moral obligations since the bastards he wanted dead wanted him just the same.

He yawed hard to the left; narrowly avoiding the plasma bursts that streaked by. Hitting the brake thruster hard, the second bladefighter simply overcompensated and shot past Falsner. A burst of slugs and it promptly exploded. Two kills.

"Come on you war hounds," Falsner shouted over the Comm. Start dropping them or I'll have to kill all of the-"

_Is there anyone there?_

The sudden voice in his head startled Falsner. So much so he lost his focus, a bad thing to do in a dogfight.

_Is there anyone there?_ There it was, again. Was the atmosphere leaking from his fighter, the lack of air causing him to hallucinate? The cockpit pressure registered norm. Some new T'Hranii weapon? What was this?

"Hey, anyone just hear that?"

"Other then your sorry ass, no," a pilot smarted off.

Another swoop from his left and he instinctively veered up to engage it. He was certain he had heard something, someone calling to him. But he didn't have the time to think about it, he had more imminent issues.

* * *

Lt. Amata Capris and Pt. Jerome Winston could both clearly see the mystery object now. It was a ship all right. It looked to be a fair sized cruiser, or a fairly small freighter. She couldn't seem to nail down the make or model of ship.

That was, until she realized the similarity to something from a mission years before. A mission she hoped she had forgotten.

"Texas, I don't think this thing is ours," she said to her wingman.

"It has to be. Why else would it be out here?"

"Texas listen, I think this is one of the old colonizers. Remember our first assignment?"

"You mean this is another of those old ships? I thought they were all long gone, I thought we got the last."

"I guess not," Capris responded.

Pieces were falling into place now. The planet below was probably habitable. During those ancient days, in the years after the Nathis were defeated and before the old FSP collapsed, many dozens of colony missions were launched, many to unknown parts of the galaxy. And many of them had since been found. Many of the nations that emerged in the Great Dark Age were such fledgling colonies.

The Bloodtail Squadron had once found a ship very similar to this several years before, drifting in space during a failed Op. Despite the bad memory of that incident, it was hard to believe that after thousands of years, old colonizers from ages past were still being found.

And if this was the case, and there were still people down there, even after thousands of years, then the mission had changed. It was no longer Search and Recovery; it was a Defense mission now.

This is Bravo 2, calling Sargasso, I think we found something-"

_Is there anyone there?_

The sudden sound of a voice in her head startled her, so badly she lost her flow of thought and interrupted her.

"This is the _Sargasso_, state yourself."

_Is there anyone there?_

Capris was confused, almost bewildered, trying for a moment to sort the voices in her head. "Uh, Control, I-I don't think that this is one of our ships," She managed to get out with out sounding nervous. "I think it's an ancient colonizer, from the old days."

"Another one, you mean?"

The young lieutenant was once again amazed at such a discovery, and twice in her life so far, she guided her craft for a slow fly-by of the ship on the starboard side, the side she knew had the giant docking hangar for on-board craft. As she swept towards aft from the front, the fighter's nose mounted spot illuminator passed over the eerily deserted bridge, no signs of life present. Just like back at Driadic.

"Texas, watch my back. I'm going to get a closer look, maybe get an ID." She did her best to be composed.

"Just be careful, the last one of these things was booby-trapped. Don't get yourself blown to bits."

As they approached from the ancient colonizer's bow, Capris activated her fighter's nose-mounted spotlight and aimed it on the bow. The name of the ship shone brightly on the surface:

YOKOHAMA

FEDERATED SENTIENT PLANETS

"_Sargasso_, this is Bravo 2, she's called the _Yokohama_, and she also has old FSP insignia with the name. Can you get a match?"

A short pause, then a voice. "This is Colonel Skye, looks like you hit the jackpot Capris. This ship _is_ from the old days, if you're correct. The records are fuzzy though, it may take a while."

"Well, that's good to know," Texas muttered more than audibly. "Can we return to combat now and kick some ass?"

"Negative on that. Sweep the ship end to end, and report anything else about her you find. Skye out."

"Wilco, roger that. Texas, take point. I'll save you the trouble and sweep her myself."

"Aye-aye, oh captain my captain," He said sarcastically.

Capris and Texas split up, the latter pilot holding back. As she got close, she panned her spotbeam over the hull. She had been stripped down considerably, leaving little more than the hull itself. As she moved along the starboard side, the side she knew held the cavernous shuttle flight bay, she couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder at discovering another ancient ship.

"Control, this is Bravo 2, this ship is pretty stripped, the engines included by the looks of it. I'm coming up to the Hangar port, it looks like the pressure field is still active, she must still have power-"She stopped abruptly mid-sentence.

On her first glance into he bay, she thought she had seen-something, but she didn't recognize it. She immediately swiveled the spot along the breadth of the hangar, illuminating every square meter of the floor.

Nothing. The hangar was deserted.

"Control, this is Capris, the ship appears empty, there doesn't appear to be any craft in the hangar. Requesting permission to rejoin the battle-"

"No need, looks like the bastards came to us. I'm reading at least six blades bearing down on us, ETA thirty seconds," Texas sounded nervous. He had reason to be.

"Crap, looks like I won't have time to enjoy the view," she said, referring to the beautiful planet that spread out over thousands of miles beneath them.

"Capris, if there were any people on that ship-"

"They'd be below us on the planet, I know. Let the archaeologists sort it out, we got bigger fish to fry right now." She readied herself for this next battle, but it still nagged at her. She clearly saw…something… in the hangar, and then it vanished. And that voice, although she did note it had a feminine touch to it, oddly enough. All of it was a mystery.

And all of it could be solved later.

She had to do her job first.

_

* * *

_

_The _Yoko_, above Pern_

_I am sorry Lessa, but I do not think that they heard me._

_That's okay. At least you tried my dear._

The decks and halls of the _Yoko_ had been cleared of everyone who did not need to be there or were unnecessary, taken back to the surface via dragonback. Its darkened chambers reflected the mood that now settled over the ship like a cloud.

Those returning planetside would no doubt bring the knowledge of what was happening in space, and what danger everyone was in.

Lessa had taken command of the group of remaining people on the Bridge, who now worked to repair what equipment that had not been ruined by the energy blast, as well as watch and observe a defining moment in the history of her world.

"Can we contact the surface yet?" She asked hopefully.

"My lady," Jenga said, "It will take several weeks at least to repair everything here, including radio. I am surprised the radar equipment is still functioning, apparently it was designed to withstand this."

"And what would 'this' be?"

"Something called 'EMP'. Or electromagnetic pulse. It damages or destroys sensitive electronics. That blast wave that the second vessel created produced it as a byproduct. Our most critical systems are still active because they were somehow hardened against this, Radar, Life Support, Engines too if the _Yoko_ still had any-"

He was cut short as the alert klaxon began to sound yet again.

Jenga looked at the monitor he was stationed at. "There are two of the newest vessels, approaching us at rapid speed," The Journeyman Harper began to sound nervous.

"Are they going to attack us again like earlier?" Someone half shouted.

"I don't know," The Weyrwoman said. "But if that is the case, we need to leave, right now. All of you drop what you're doing and get to the hangar and to Ramoth. We're leaving."

Moments later, the remaining humans aboard the _Yokohama_ were in the darkened main hangar of the colonizer, clambering onto Ramoth's neck. With nine people altogether, it was strangely awkward, but Ramoth told Lessa that she could handle them all.

_Where are we going Lessa?_

_Back to Landing to drop everyone off, and after that we're going back to Benden Weyr. I need to see how F'lar is faring._

_And Mnementh?_

_Him too. I just hope they're okay._

_Lessa, something is coming!_

The Weyrwoman had just enough time before being whisked _between_ to glimpse a brilliant white light shining into the hangar from outside in space, and moving towards the _Yoko_.

_

* * *

Ista Hold, Northern Continent _

Terellan awoke with a start. For a moment, his mind was a blank, and then the memory of his nightmare came flooding back. The same one he had had for the past several days. The nightmare of the strange red triangle in the sky, of thousands around him dying, human and noble dragon alike. Him confronting a strange creature, a being that was humanlike but not, with sharp talons on its hands and its eyes like-

Strangely loud chatter emanated from the window outside, startling and frightening him. Holdless perhaps? No, he recognized the deep baritone of his Harper father, and the higher pitch of his mother who sounded more worried than usual. He also heard the distant trumpets of not one dragon but several at once, the sound of which prodded at a memory in the back of Terellan's head. Something was supposed to happen today, but he couldn't quite remember through the daze.

Concerned, he pulled himself from his bed, disregarding his snoring brother, and made his way in to the main room of their family's cothold. The red symbols of the device that his father had obtained that showed time, something called a "clock", was something that Terellan was still getting used to. It was a few minutes past three in the morning, at least according to the bizarre device.

But when he looked towards the door to outside, which was partially cracked, he had a strange feeling something was amiss. It was night, but it seemed bright as day outside. And the sound of trumpeting dragons again.

When young Terellan stepped out the door to the yard where his parents stood, his reality as he knew it seemed to dissolve away.

His first thought: The sky was on fire.

Indeed it seemed so. All of the night sky, or what was supposed to be the nigh sky, was lit up in a spectacular display of color, from reds to greens to blues to various hues in between. It was as if the spirits of the dragons themselves had returned, and somehow manifested themselves as these lights.

"Rean, what are they, what do they mean?"

"I do not know my love, not for certain." Terellan's parents worriedly hugged each other as they gazed up at the sky.

Terellan was simply mesmerized by the lights, these fires in the sky, so much that the event that was supposed to happen that day seemed strangely insignificant.

Thread had been due to fall over Ista Hold that morning.

* * *

_The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire..._

_Hope you liked it. I can guarantee "first contact" will be made very soon, if not the next chapter. Who knows, you'll just have to be patient and wait. Until next time..._


	8. Chapter 8

_Hello again, after such along time. I am finally back to writing on my computer, and am glad that people hung in there and were patient in there wait. It has been a couple of moths at least since I updated my story, and the explanation as to why will require a chapter itself containing personal information. Let's just say that a very rocky chapter in my life has ended and a new one has begun. As for questions proposed by readers, I am continuing the story, and I'm going to see it through._

_But enough of me. My story is back, and I promised a lot in the next chapter, including the first encounters on of others on all sides and a clearer understanding of the big picture by all parties. And, considering content in the chapter present, a lot of high speed action. So grab a Coke and a snack, Here is Chapter 8 of Fire in the Sky._

**NOTE: The DRoP Series Belongs to Anne McCaffrey. I do however own my own OCs.

* * *

**

**INFERNO**

_The T'Hranii Bomber Mind continued on with its mission: The direct assault on the planet below._

_The bombers continued along, settling out at an altitude the Bomber mind determined would be suitable for the dispersal of its virulent payload. The wind patterns in the upper hemisphere of the planet would be the most ideal for its mission, as the winds were blowing towards land. The most prominent weather front, a large cool front, had begun to move over the large island, creating the ideal conditions for dispersal. And It was also still dark on this side of the planet, if for the moment._

_One thing however that was oddly troubling were the results the probing of the minds of the humans on the surface by the Bomber Mind. It was able to do it more effectively when it was far closer to them, it could sense their emotions, even memories, so sensitive were its neural scanning. Although there was relative ease among the scanning, there was also a sense of… wariness, of anticipated danger. But not of the Bomber Mind or its twin vessels, it would have sensed that. The danger the humans felt was from… something else entirely._

_It was truly puzzling, but it did not matter at all, as long as the human population was completely and blissfully unaware of their impending doom. And it would remain so that way, until the very end, when they were choking to death on invisible fumes._

_The Bomber Mind suddenly detected that another advantage was falling in its favor; a heavy sea fog was beginning to roll in, typical over large bodies of water. It decided it would drop altitude in its first bomber, to settle in the fog and conceal itself._

_It was during this maneuver that the Bomber Mind detected them. They numbered twenty altogether, flying slowly along the water at only about a thousand feet. They were also relatively large objects, probably some kind of aerial craft. Some kind of investigative party seemed to be the most likely assumption. Perhaps the Bomber itself had been detected._

_But the pinpoint scanning revealed that they weren't craft at all but massive, living, flying creatures, probably indigenous to the planet, Then it detected the human life signs alongside those of the creatures. And those were definitely _not_ native._

_And then the Bomber Mind realized exactly what it was seeing: The humans were attempting to attack the Bomber with domesticated animals. Their species really was insane._

_As the First Bomber began to penetrate the thick fog bank, it noted in the central log the foolish actions of the humans. This was beyond anything the humans could do; there wasn't even a word in their language to describe what they were attempting-_

_Suddenly and abruptly, all thought in the Bomber Mind's consciousness was instantly replaced by instant, sheer, total, agonizing pain. It would never last long enough to determine that the 'fog bank' was not that at all but something else far more dangerous, a complete unknown to the Bomber Mind. The pain penetrated into the heart of the first bomber, slicing though its arteries, nerves, simply everything. And then, in the last split second of its existence, as the emergency power failed and the core went critical, the Bomber Mind saw what was going to happen._

_It all occurred in the span of a single second._

_The very nanosecond the last emergency backup failed on the Bomber, the dense anti-atom cluster, confined rigidly inside the reactor core, was freed and went hurdling into the nearest side of the chamber. The collision instantly triggered the annihilation of both the anti-atoms and the core chamber itself, resulting in a massive explosion of which the likes had rarely ever been achieved.._

_In the next two to three nanoseconds, the crippled Bomber, the bizarre 'weather formation' that ended it, the nearby humans and their draconic mounts, and everything else nearby were all instantly vaporized as the mater-antimatter reaction converted itself into pure kinetic energy. The massive kinetic blast instantly heated the surrounding atmosphere out to a radius of fifty kilometers to a staggering sixty thousand Kelvin, ten times hotter then the surface of a G-Type star. It radiated outwards in all directions, up into the atmosphere where it quickly, and fortunately, dissipated. But the return slammed into the planet below, triggering a series of seismic events that would be felt throughout the planet and ring it like a bell._

_Even though the explosion was nearly eight thousand feet above the sea level, it took less then a microsecond for the hypersonic blast wave to reach it. The liquid water below the explosion instantly converted to superheated steam, along with whatever had been in the water at that time. What liquid water that hadn't been vaporized carried the supersonic pulse underwater, far faster then the air above. What fish and aquatic creatures that were within a hundred kilometers of the blast were either instantly pulverized into chum or crushed by the sheer decibel level of the sound._

_The instant the blast happened, anyone on nearby land who had been looking south would have been instantly blinded, their corneas fried as the flash of light was briefly brighter that that of ten suns. Only minutes later, those same people, staggering around wherever they had stood, would have been blasted from their feet as the concussion wave finally hit land._

_Nothing would be spared. Trees would be knocked over and be blown away like matchsticks. Rocks and boulders would turn into ballistic missiles, destroying everything they hit. Houses would simply disintegrate or crumple, depending on what they were made out of. And all of it caused mostly by hurricane force winds, far stronger than anything created naturally in any natural world._

_It was, in a certain sense, the most destruction the planet may have ever seen._

_

* * *

2nd Fleet, 1121 hundred hours, above Rukbat 3 _

Lieutenant Hawkins was in the fight of his life. Flashes of light to his left, a glimpse of red, the thudding sound as those flashes hit into the sides of his craft, cracking and chipping at ceramic armor plating. He desperately struggled to stay on top of, ahead of, whatever the hell was also desperately trying to kill him.

He flipped around, hanging left as hard as he could, even through the sounds his craft made as individual components were pushed beyond safe limits. The groans and screeches the B-31 Vanguard Bomber made as he pulled maneuvers some fighter pilots dreamed of executing were warnings enough of the imminent danger.

The B-31 Vanguard, argued to be the best carrier based bomber ever produced. Its original intention was to provide carriers with an anti-ground target capacity, although most had long since converted to anti-capital ship. The modified AC version was a bit of both, configured to attack capital ships, but still held the atmospheric flight capability. The version Hawkins flew most had also been skunk-worked up with super dense composite armor, as well as a more efficient fusion propulsion system.

The only problem anyone could have with the Vanguard was its speed. It was slow as hell. Hawkins could honestly care less, as this was his hardcore favorite craft.

The things that Hawkins currently fought, however, were the exact opposite of slow. They weren't like any craft Hawkins had ever encountered. They seemed suicidal, as several close calls seemed too evident. And they were tenacious as hell, refusing to back off fore more that a second.

He had phased out everything else, the world outside a mere blur. All that now mattered were the enemy and himself. Only one would fly away. Only the lone Terran or the alien Crosseyes would survive.

He heard sounds, off in the distance. The sounds mattered shit. He saw the path a bandit was going to take well before it actually took that path. He let loose a burst of railgun fire across it, shredding the target and sending it adrift. The next was even dumber, swinging out in front of his guns and coming at him head on, in some kind of crazed kamikaze run. A short burst from his cannons and it died too, Hawkins swerving narrowly to dodge the smoking hulk.

The sounds again, they seemed familiar.

Blasts raked the fuselage of the bomber, error warnings sounding, indicating a sudden loss of power in the port engine. Hawkins compensated almost instantly, swinging around in an almost flawless bootleg turn, blasting and killing the rouge Crosseye.

Three down, three to go. Another came from behind, letting of a burst of plasma bolts right across the hull of his craft. Shattered ceramic clattered off into space. The Lieutenant executed a forward roll and strafed the fighter craft behind him. It abruptly exploded almost instantly. Two to go.

And suddenly the sounds filtered through into the zone he had entombed himself in. piercing into his thought train. "The doors man, we got 'em open! Get in here man!" the message and others was repeatedly screamed over and over in his headset. He briefly glanced over to the enormous _Monolith_, where a gaping hole the size of a hoopball court had appeared. A new objective appeared in his mind.

He suddenly made a beeline for the gaping maw, hell-bent on safety. He never noticed the remaining pair of Crosseye starfighters making a hasty retreat. Only the safety of the interior of the superfreighter mattered.

And then it happened. Whether it was a chunk of his own superdense ceramic armor or a chunk from the wrecked Crosseye fighters, He would never know. But a piece of debris suddenly punched a neat hole through his canopy, venting every molecule of air instantly.

Hawkins suddenly jammed down the throttles as all sound ceased. The hole sped at him, his gaze fixed in a death watch on it. He never even noticed a strange shadow pass over his craft the moment before he flew through. The very last thing the young Lieutenant remembered was entering darkness, although whether it was from the lack of oxygen in his brain or the darkness of the cargo hold he would never know either.

* * *

Lieutenant Thomas Falsner knew almost immediately that something was wrong. Despite the sudden retreat of the Battlecruiser and its escort fighter squadrons, and the sudden realization among the remaining fighter pilots that they had won by default, Falsner could somehow sense that all was not right. Instead of retreating out to space, away from the battle at hand, the battlecruiser had retreated toward the planet. That didn't settle right. There was something else going on here. The question was, what?

And, like other times before, the dominoes fell inside his head.

His sensors had recorded energy fluxes from the northern end of the planet, disturbances signature of a release of pure energy. Falsner had noted once that pure energy could only be created artificially through a few methods. Antimatter reactions ranking chiefly among them. Specifically, the detonation of an antimatter device. _Or a core chamber rupture in an antimatter reactor._

Another note pulled from his memory. The Battlecruiser they had just engaged lacked wingtips characteristic of that particular class of Crosseye warship. At least the simulator version had wingtips. But the wingtips could detach and become independent starships, even capable of atmospheric flight. This would mean that the wingtips had disengaged prior to the battle. _The Crosseyes may be on the planet's surface. If they were not on the surface they would have revealed themselves during the duration of the battle._

The Wingtip starships the Crosseyes used utilized matter-antimatter reaction for short-range propulsion. If the reaction chamber were to, say, become compromised, the result would likely be a massive explosion in the gigaton range, certainly one large enough to produce the recorded energy fluctuations. Such propulsion systems of course had a myriad of failsafe mechanisms to prevent such a catastrophe, _but still._

But what would be capable enough to critically damage a Crosseye Wingtip Bomber? They weren't as heavily protected or armed as their battlecruiser mothership, Certainly it would take a considerable force to destroy one. _Such as a ground-based offensive attack._

And then the last dominoes fell into place, the final realization dawned on Falsner: The abandoned colony ship, the errant activity of the battlecruiser. The weird feelings he had been getting earlier. And now the finale:

_The world below them was still inhabited. By fellow Terrans who very likely were in grave danger._

Holy freaking shit.

"_Sargasso_, Bloodtail Leader calling _Sargasso_, we may have a problem," Falsner barely got out with a single breath.

Exclamations of surprise and puzzlement were heard over the Comm. "This is Colonel Skye. Explain yourself."

"Colonel Sir, I think the planet below us is still, ah, how would I say it, inhabited," Falsner said.

Back in the CIC Room of the _Sargasso_, eyes looked up from frantic work and towards the Comm. station when the word 'inhabited' was said. A look of surprise followed by a bizarre look of shock flashed across Captain Falcanar who stood nearby. Colonel Skye, who had been standing over the Comm. operator, barely even flinched. "Lieutenant Falsner, try to explain your, ah, deduction to me."

"Our sensors just detected moments ago a massive explosion in the northern hemisphere of the planet. The battlecruiser may have used its wingtips to attack the surface, and the explosion was likely from one of those bombers being destroyed by a planet-based force. And the Crosseye battlecruiser retreating? it wasn't retreating but relocating to the planet-side battle, to continue that. And you have to consider the colonizer too sir."

"Give me a moment to confer with the Captain. This is all very sudden." Skye switched off the Comm., startling the station operator. "Don't reactivate it until I'm done," He said to him.

Skye turned to Captain Falcanar, a questioning look in his eyes. "So, Captain, what's your take on this development?"

"Me? I think we would have detected something, anything, indicating habitation," Falcanar replied. He seemed to be straining to maintain his calm.

"You mean the _Firecross_ would have, Sir, but it blew to bits before it could even begin a sensor sweep of the planet. And it makes sense with that abandoned colonizer. Dammit, I should have realized this," Skye said.

"Colonel," Falcanar asked, "Do you trust your lieutenant's judgment? That this planet is inhabited still by Terrans, despite the apparent lack of any communication attempts whatsoever, as well as who knows how long a span of time may have passed? Those colonizers are from _thousands_ of years ago. Do you trust your Second's judgment?"

Skye hesitated, but for only a moment."I do Sir; I trust Falsner and his hyperanalytical mind as much as anything else of potential value. He has gotten us out of more that a few scrapes with his abilities, so if he says he's on to something big, I believe him."

Captain Falcanar considered something for a moment. "Very well then, tell your men to follow the retreating Crosseyes, but tell them to be very quick. I do believe your skunk-worked starfighters have atom, right?"

"Colonel Skye made a halfway smile, a true rarity. He turned back to the Comm. Station and told the operator to reactivate it. Speaking into his headset he said, "All remaining squadrons, new orders. Sphinx and Luger Squadrons, continue with the capture of the primary target. Image, Squadron, RTB for damage assessment and repairs. And Bloodtail Squadron, investigate the retreat of the Crosseyes, report anything unusual that may be discovered. You have clearance to engage in atmospheric combat if absolutely necessary. Good Luck. Skye Out."

"Wilco, roger that," Falsner said with enthusiasm.

"Well looks like you guys get to have all the fun again, see you soon," Parker said, disappointed.

"Aw man, I'm gonna have to get my suit dirty again," Lt. Winston said in his border world drawl.

_

* * *

Benden Weyr, early morning. _

Darkness. A voice in the midst. He felt the presence of someone familiar nearby. Who?

F'lar slowly woke, opening his eyes to the darkness around him. He somehow knew he was in familiar settings; somehow he had ended up here from the _Yoko_. The _Yoko_?

And then it all flooded back to him. The Vessel, the Second Vessel, the massive explosion and his injured dragon-

He bolted up straight, remembering Mnementh's injuries, only to collapse back to the bed, sharp needles of pain shooting through his head.

"F'lar, please, lie down. "Someone in the room, right nearby. "It's all right, you're back at Benden Weyr."

F'lar struggled with the perplexing riddle as to how he had gotten from the Yoko to his bed in the Weyr. "H-How did I get here? Where's Mnementh?"

"Mnementh is in his weyr, mending his broken wing. He will be okay again soon," Lessa replied. "You'll be felling better in no time too. You are fortunate that the concussion you received was only a mild one."

F'lar then sensed from his mate that there was something she wasn't telling him. Something she was hesitant to lay on him so soon after being injured.

"What is it?" He asked.

"What do you mean, 'What is it'?" she replied.

"I have been by your side too long to know when you're hiding something important. What is it? Did something else happen while I was out _between_?

"Even in the darkness of his weyr, F'lar could sense Lessa's change of expression. "You're right, something did happen, and you are not going to like it."

What then, just tell me."

Lessa began. "Ista Weyr lost many dragons today, at least twenty died, and I don't know how or why."

What Lessa had just said had momentarily stunned F'lar into mute silence. "_Twenty_? How?"

"I, I really do not know," Lessa stammered. "All I do know is that an advance wing was sent to scout the Threadfall over the south Ista shores today. The last message that the Wingleader sent through his dragon was that he had seen a strange red object. Then they all…passed. Other riders were sent to find out what happened, but they died instantly as well when they arrived. And then some kind of explosion, like the one that hit the _Yoko_, hit Ista Island itself. Many hundreds or thousands more may have died F'lar, we still don't know." Her voice was cracking.

F'lar was mortified beyond comprehension. Twenty dragons and their riders and countless others had died in a short span of time, according to Lessa, and they were powerless to prevent further loss. He felt helpless against some invisible hand pushing against Pern. Totally and completely helpless.

F'lar then remembered the stories that the Artificial Intelligence AIVAS had stored in its data banks, the stories of how the original colonists had fled a galactic war between human beings and another feared, dangerous force. And now, F'lar believed, that force had returned.

He now believed that the Vessels no longer were interested in communication or anything of the likes. All they wanted was the total, and complete, destruction, of his world.

And all that stood between them and their goal were the Dragonriders, the defenders of that world.

* * *

_Ista Island, Early Morning_

Terellan drifted in out of consciousness, believing he was dead. He vaguely remembered hearing a massive roar while looking with awe at the lights above him in the sky, then looking over his shoulder and seeing his own house flying towards him. Or maybe he flew at it. He could not tell from his memory.

He was pinned under something, or at least his legs were, for he could not move them. He could feel a dull throbbing from his left foot, so he somehow figured that that was somehow a good thing. He was in total darkness, his face against something rough. All he could move was his lower left arm, and even only slightly.

He wondered where his brother, Maranan, was. He also had no idea where his Mother and Father were either. He then decided he was somehow underneath his house.

He tried to call for help, but only a strangled gurgle emanated from his lips. He had lost his voice. He heard nothing in the dark, no sounds of any kind anywhere; He was trapped with no one around, no one to help him. He was alone.

And then he was resigned to the fact that he was going to die soon, very soon.

He drifted back into unconsciousness.

_

* * *

Somewhere in Orbit above Pern _

When A'rak had entered the black, gaping void through which the last injured craft had passed, he had expected to be greeted by something, anything.

All he met with was blackness.

The short but spectacular battle that had taken place only moments before had been nothing shy of amazing. The strange crafts had dodged and rolled, made flips and somersaults and countless other moves not even dragons could execute. The majority of the craft struggled to defeat the minority of red craft. Both sides had dodged and evaded each other in an epic battle. Within what seemed like moments most of the reddish craft had been defeated. Lageth had even claimed to have briefly heard the thoughts of one of the craft, but had not been so sure.

And then a gaping hole had appeared in the side of the Vessel, only to have the surviving craft fly in through it into darkness. All but one made it through before A'rak instructed his dragon to maneuver towards it. The last of the craft to enter the hole was, as it seemed to appear to A'rak, very badly damaged in comparison to its others. it had a lot of holes in it, and it leaked gases of some kind in several places.

They let the injured craft pass, by comparison to them it had suddenly gained speed and shot into the entryway. A'rak saw with momentary shock the craft pass Lageth's shadow. But it did not even hesitate the slightest and vanished into the hole an instant later, gone, only puffs of smoky vapor remaining.

A'rak and Lageth drifted in front of the hole, gazing into the darkness beyond. And Lageth now had less than a minute of air in his lungs before he began to suffocate.

_A'rak I need air_, Lageth's tone was desperate.

_One last push my love, and we will fill our lungs at Ista_, A'rak said to his dragon, promising.

_Alright, one last push for discovery, for Pern._ And he moved himself with some speed and propelled them both inside.

Once inside the opening, a seemingly endless chasm of darkness met them, but suddenly strange, bright lights slowly flickered to life in the darkness, towards what seemed to be the floor of a _very_ large room or hangar of some kind. and Then A'rak noticed two things. One, there was a slight gravity in the room, and that there was atmosphere; it was breathable.

_AIR!_ Lageth rejoiced through his mental link, exhaling stale air and inhaling a fresh breath. _It tastes old but it is air nonetheless!_

A'rak's eyes were riveted to the sudden action taking place in the distance in the cavernous room, where what he could now discern as the place where the fighter craft from earlier had landed on the floor. As he watched, figures clambered over and out of the craft, in seemingly random fashion. Side panels on the three larger objects swung open and more of the figures poured out. A'rak could also perceive massive, hanging shapes in the twilight, barely visible.

_Lageth, hide us behind those whatever-they-are hanging over there. I don't want to be seen just yet._

_I will do that my love, I do not trust them as to expose ourselves._

Lageth slowly flapped his wings until he reached the nearest hanging object, a large, ovoid structure of some kind, with large enough holes to rest his claws in.

A'rak began to formulate out a new course of action when the sheer flood of mental anguish hit them both, wrenching the Rider's mind with agonizing pain. And his dragon, foregoing any semblance of stealth, let out a massive, mournful roar, filling the entire chamber with its sad tone.

* * *

_Well, that's a wrap. It took nearly three months to get this here. I hope you guys and gals enjoyed it. Stay tuned for the next installments, it only get's better from here._

_The Merc_


	9. Chapter 9

_Hello again. I'm back with another chapter to the Fire in the Sky, and, do to suggestion, a bit of reader response. For various reasons, it has taken me several months to finish this, mostly due to the fact that I just got over a serious bout of writer's block. It also took me roughly three weeks to find out what the name of the Weyrleader of Ista was (G'dened). I also took a good deal of time to refine the previous chapters, (prior to this post the typos and mistakes in all of the previous chapters should now be fixed)._

_On a further note, at post, and not counting the introduction and questions, this chapter had 5000+ words, a personal record for me and a reflection of the amount of effort I put into making this chapter. Most of the previous chapters only had about 3000 to 3500._

_For anyone wondering where this story will end, I have decided that there are only two chapters left to go. I won't spoil anything, so I'll leave it at that. Also, I have decided to do a sequel once this is done. Although I may wait after summer is over to start. I won't get into details there either._

_And now for the responses to questions that have been asked recently. For starters, this is Not, I repeat, NOT, Battlestar Galactica/Pern Xover. I am guessing that the place that came from is the excessive use of the word "frack," also used in the BSG Series. I used the term here in place of a certain four-letter word that would have gotten this story stuck in the M Category where none would have seen it. Other than for similar circumstances in both BSG and my story(i.e. massive Space battles between Capital Ships; A fleet on the run), all similarities end there._

_**dragon shadows:** At where the story is, for any of my OCs impressing, my bet is on the fact you may have to wait for said sequel, the way the story is going right now. To be truthful, I have thought about it, but it's way up in the air. as for your second question: Lageth just lost twenty of his brothers and sisters in an titanic explosion. How would you feel?_

_**Cat in a box:** A Space Crafthall? I haven't thought of that. Maybe Anne has. I don't think I'm going to make any canonical changes yet._

_**Mayhem21:** A language rift was one of the things I had thought about for a while. To be on the safe side, I have only presened it with only relatively minor shifts comparatively in opposing dialects, as you will later see in this chapter._

_**Allyrian:** Sci-Fi and technobabble have always been my specialties._

_**blackpanzer**: I've put it off way too long, you'll soon see what Stiletto Starfighters can do in relation to dragons._

_**Green Charmer:** I felt like putting a gun to my head and shooting myself when I first started reading the Rowan books. The similarities between the T'Hranii an the aliens in those books were obvious. Bu the T'Hranii are not those aliens, they are very much my own creation._

_**Cathrl:** Skye is seventeen years old going on eighteen. Falcanar is almost fifty. The personnel and officers in the CIC (aka the Bridge) all do as they are ordered. The personnel on the Sargasso are more used to working with other Naval officers and/or personnel, not Air Force officers like Skye. Skye is technically a senior officer, heading an entire starfighter battalion. About his rank, He is a Colonel, an officer's rank, at the same time holding the title of "Wing Commander,"(no pun to other well-known Sci-fi show intended) being said commander of said fighter battalion, and is sometimes referred to loosely by those who closely know him as "Commander." I used "Captain" once by mistake in the second chapter, and the update I mentioned earlier should nix it, if it hasn't already. I apologize for any confusion I may have caused._

_**The Sithspawn:** By "fallout", I'm guessing you mean "radioactive fallout." If my understanding of physics is accurate, antimatter explosions produce no secondary radiation, only straight kinetic energy in the form of heat and light. about how the personnel on the Monolith reacting to an extremely enraged and po'ed dragon, you're about to find out._

_**Bigfoot II:** I know, honestly, I didn't think Hawkins would pull it off either._

_And enough of me blabbering, let's get on with the story!_

**NOTE: The Dragonriders of Pern is copywrited to Anee Mccaffrey, all OCs are mine however.

* * *

**

**DESCENT**

_They felt pain, anger, a sense of fear; they felt wronged somehow, as if someone or something had deliberately harmed them._

_The remaining two Hive Minds felt the sudden, crippling loss of their brother Hive Mind, which, under the most bizarre of circumstances, had been snatched beyond. But in its final dying act, it at least slew the ones who had killed it. The bastards did not deserve a reunion with their planet._

_The humans, damn them, damn them all to beyond. They were the most horrific, viral excuses for life The T'Hranii race had ever encountered. They had to be exterminated at all costs, before they destroyed this galaxy, before they had a chance to spread their diseased version of existence. This group of humans, they were now the worst of them all._

_The Hive Minds determined that the space battle was completely lost; a small number of the humans had slipped aboard the freighter/battleship and were in the process of manning it. The guiding hand from them to the freighter/battleship would be enough to send the remaining two Hive Minds to the beyond themselves, unless they retreated immediately._

_And as the remaining two minds began to contemplate their next course of action, they then realized that at this point, they had no recourse._

_They had placed all of their resources in this gambit, failure meant death. And that was exactly what they had done, failed. They had failed to avenge their slain sisters and brothers, their brother Hive Mind that had just passed. They had failed even in the task of killing a few errant humans._

_But then hey realized something, something that was unthinkable, even in the most dire of conditions. Something that would not only wipe out the humans on the world below, but the ones that were certainly nearby, waiting. Not to mention that freighter/battleship that had caused it so much grief._

_The course of action was Suicide._

_But not suicide exactly, more like 'mutually assured destruction'. It was certainly simple enough. A simple, fully charged shot with their main energy weapon, point-blank while in the atmosphere, _directly at the planet_, and slay, as the Minds had previously put it earlier, 'slay two birds with one stone. Or energy burst. The resulting blast at the very least would completely strip the planet of its crust; if not completely destroy it outright. _

_And the remaining Hive Minds decided that the seething pool of plasma and ionized gases that was now the last stand of their brother would be an appropriate place to end it all._

_They recalled their previously launched fighters, the battle in space in complete favor of the humans, all save for one. They trusted the remaining two of their tiny drone fighters, the ones that had been deployed against the boarding party of humans now on the freighter/battleship, with a separate mission, one that would take them far from the star system called Rukbat._

_The Hive Minds, now ensconced back in their battlecruiser, set course for the surface of the world below, to the grave site of their slain brother._

_To pay one final respect._

_

* * *

_

_2__nd__ Fleet, 1131 hours, aboard the _Monolith

Lieutenant Trey Parker had begun to prepare for the worst as the half dozen Crosseye attack craft sped towards their motley fleet of fighters and boarding shuttles. Had their Marine charges been just a few moments slower in popping the giant Nanodoor that was all that separated them from hell and reasonable safety- well, he wasn't going to go there.

They had ditched their 'board and cover' plan when the six Crosseyes showed up. _That plan became outdated pretty damned quick for a high-risk mission that this was turning out to be_, Parker thought. Nor would this go well if they all died before they could complete their mission in the recovery and capture of the _Monolith_. Recovery, Trey thought, was one thing. Capture was another altogether. The strangely short Intel report on the _Monolith_ failed to indicate the presence of any dormant security systems that would activate, in the event of intrusion.

_An intrusion like the one I'm part of_, Parker then thought as he guided his Stiletto through the hole.

The Shracs went through first into the hole in the side of the _Monolith_, vanishing into the unlit darkness, only to be followed in by five of the six members of the Sphinx squadron, then by his own squadron-

_Five out of six?_

Sure enough, the glory-whore Mathias Hawkins could never back down from any challenge, no matter how high the odds were stacked against him. Him, solo, in a fricking _land raiding bomber_, which was never even designed to engage a sentry drone, against six of the most agile motherfracking Crosseye fighters Parker had ever seen.

_He could get himself killed for all he cared now_, Trey thought. _One less bullet for someone to waste when the time comes for all of us._

And then he defied the Odds, the whole pie-box stack of them, _by taking out four of the Crosseye bastards_, no less. _What a Goddamn showoff_, Trey thought as he and his fellow Image Squadron fliers touched down with the marine contingent.

He noted that from within the vast chamber that was the interior of this part of the ship, the Marine hacker had enough sense to engage the airlock field. It flickered dimly in the darkness over the hole through which they had just passed. And then Trey noticed something else in the gloom. Their surroundings around the floor were surrounded by movement, from strange objects or groups of objects.

What the hell is this, some kind of engine room? Engines had moving parts, some of them at least. What kind of cargo was this hellhole ship hauling?

Hawkins, his damaged, shot-up bomber, was the very last craft to enter the hold, setting down as the other craft popped their hatches. The Shracs blew their side doors as squads of marines in combat gear rushed out, autorifles at the ready. The hatches on the fighter craft and bombers swung up, and the pilots pulled themselves out, several of them armed with the autorifles that were in all of the survival kits in the cockpits.

The pilots of the Sphinx squadron and Lt. Parker rushed to the trashed and totaled bomber of their wingleader, which now looked as if it had taken a capital ship missile up an exhaust port.

As Parker took a closer look at the wreck, he was suddenly baffled as to how the thing even touched down so gently on the deck. Most of the heavy ceramic armor had sloughed off in the engagement. In some places the skin was shot clear through by plasma fire. Only one of the three engines was still functioning, the second resembling Delphian Swiss, and the third was missing altogether, ripped clean out of its mount in the engagement, the fuel injectors dangling free and dripping fuel. The cockpit canopy was shattered on one side, a neat hole punched through it cleanly. The dreaded blue smoke, signature of crispitoed circuit boards, filled the interior, filtering out of the jagged cracks and holes.

Together, they somehow wrenched the wrenched the canopy open, suddenly releasing a small cloud of smoke from shorted circuits. Hawkins' limp form was unbuckled from his seat, then hauled onto the floor by a particularly buffed Sphinx Squadron pilot.

"He's alive, but barely," the pilot that hauled him out said as he checked Hawkins' pulse and breathing. "He'll live."

"Gee, ya think? He's suicidal," Parker said. Then he suddenly re-realized he was surrounded by subtle movement in the black. "Hey someone give me a spot-" He pointed through the semidarkness to a nearby marine hunched at a Comm. Console in a Shrac. "Hey you, lemme see your spotbeam."

"Sure," the marine grunted, apparently not used to taking orders from anyone but his squad officer. He unclamped the beam on his vest and tossed it out the door to Parker, who nimbly caught it. "Any luck getting a line out to the _Sargasso_?" He asked.

"No, shielding round this bucket's scrambling our stuff." The Marine replied.

Parker shrugged. So much _for a 'hey, we're still alive'_, he thought. He took the marine's spotbeam, set it to its maximum brightness, aimed it straight up, and clicked it on.

The light only reached about thirty meters, but what Parker saw startled him.

In the chamber, hundreds upon hundreds of enormous, egg-shaped spheroids hung in massive belts from the ceiling far above, in enormous loops that seemed to indicate that every loop was one long strand of spheroids. Each of the 'eggs' were dull gunmetal gray, with silver, rail-like structures running end to end. Their surface was notched and grooved in a crosshatch pattern, making them all look like giant globular breadbaskets.

Parker instantly knew what they were, albeit hard to believe. Plasma Shells.

They were gigantic plasma shells, fired semiautomatically by the _Monolith's_ deck guns. Parker had never seen shells of that kind of caliber, or even that big. Each of the enormous shells was almost as big as his Stiletto, and even in the half-grav they had to weigh over a ton apiece.

A cargo bay full of artillery shells? This wasn't a cargo bay. It was the fracking munitions magazine.

"_Cheerist_, those are big bullets," one of the marines stated.

"And someone had the money to mass produce them?" Another Marine. Apparently they had noticed the shells too, as well as everyone else still in the bay. Parker noticed that the interior airlock had been opened, letting the marine parties advance to the central control area.

Vegans don't use money, you blinding idiot," Yet another wisecracker.

"Where's Major Crowell?" Parker asked. The nearer marine turned and replied. "Crowell's leading Alpha team to the Bridge on this heap." He glanced at his wristchrono. "Beta should be in the engine room by now-"

It hit all of them at that moment.

A massive, deafening, yet seemingly mournful roar from seemingly from nowhere filled the entire chamber, reverberating off the walls and floor. The sound seemed to pierce into Parker's very soul, ringing of pain and sadness. Pilots and Marine commandos scrambled for weapons, the spotlights of the Shracs blinked on, peering into the darkness.

"Fracking hell, what was that?" Someone shouted.

Parker scrambled under a Stiletto, scavenged autorifle in hand, expecting anything. Others did the same, jumping into Shracs or scrambling under cover, daring not to expose themselves one bit to any potential threat. Parker, crouched against the wheelwell of one of the Shracs, was cautious enough to peek out from underneath to try to see what made the sound. He became braver, distinctly hearing the radio chatter of his fellow pilots and Marines in hist Comm mike as he inched his way up to the entry hatch on the side of the Shrac. And that was then when he saw the creature.

Or, more precisely its eyes, which seemed to be _swirling_ and glowing a deep red. It seemed to sway in the darkness, no doubt clutched to one of the shells. He could just barely make out a silhouette of the creature, which suggested, even despite being up in the rafters, that it was _very_ big. _It was, had to be, some kind of demon, some kind of-_

Parker simply snapped, panic and impulsiveness overriding his stone-hard composure. He hurled himself across open ground towards the open hatch of another Nearby Shrac scaring the hell out of the same marine who had loaned him a spot, jumping through, all the while scrambling for the Comm mike on his neck.

"Alpha Team, Beta Team, emergency at the insertion point, I repeat, there's an intruder in the-"Was all Parker could get out before the creature swept down from its perch high above.

Stunned pilots and shocked Marines scrambled for their autorifles and out of the way as the massive, bronze-hued creature swooped down from above and slammed into the deck, smashing a Stiletto flat and sweeping another out of the way and sending the Shrac holding Lieutenant Parker and the Marine smashing through the air, only to land on its side, starboard wing sheared off moments later in the low grav. Its tail (it did indeed have a tail) lashed out at two more Stilettos, destroying both as they crumpled together in a twisted and gnarled heap. The Marines and fighter pilots alike scrambled away from the chaos, back into the darkness.

Autrorifle fire rained out, reverberating off the walls as the shooter missed his target as it lifted off again, tracers flaring off into the darkness. Another rifle, then a whole cacophony as both remaining squads of Marines in the hold trained their sights. A concussive blast as a high-explosive fragger went off on the far side of the cargo hold, causing the ears of anyone nearby to ring deafeningly.

The creature seemed oblivious to the chaos it was creating as it landed again, swiping another Shrac aside and sending it into the bulkhead wall, where it promptly exploded upon impact, sending out incinerating hunks of flaming material every direction. One of the destroyed Stilettos suddenly exploded, showering the surrounding area in flaming debris while lighting up the entire chamber with eerie orange light. The creature finally seemed to notice the utter chaos around it, and after a pause, and an enormous roar, launched itself back into the darkness.

The remaining humans in the Bay, those still sane enough to take action, scrambled for the interior airlock, hell-bent on escaping the war zone as several of the Marines lay covering fire in random patterns into the darkness. And with environmental and fire suppression systems still offline, every molecule of oxygen was being consumed by the enormous inferno that was now spreading across the floor of the Bay, consuming the leaking aviation fuel. Hawkins, still unconscious, was carried sprawled on one of the Marines' backs, blissfully unaware of the Hell that had befallen them.

They had also all forgotten Parker and the Marine, who was still in the trashed Shrac.

_

* * *

__2nd__ Fleet, 1140 Hours, aboard the C.T.S. Sargasso_

Skye knew, from the moment he saws the dazed look in Captain Falcanar's Eyes, after hearing the possibility of a colony on Rukbat 3, that he was a traitor.

But perhaps not in the literal sense, he thought. There was something definitely else going on here.

Ever since the moment he saw Falcanar look shocked and bewildered, as if finding out that a lost colony eons old still existed in the far reaches of known space was the worst possible thing that could happen, Skye some how knew that much about him.

But other things too, mainly the way he had been on edge about his past during their last briefing, the way he looked so grim during the speech less than an hour before. And now the way he was sweating plasma shells. He was _nervous_, for gods' sake. Even after finding a godsdamned colony long thought lost.

So what did he do? What else would Colonel Skye do? He kept his cool, even flashed a brief smiled when Falcanar asked him about his Second-in-Command's judgment (which Skye always trusted, if course). And now he was looking at the current situation play out in the Sargasso's CIC Room around the main holotable, counting the seconds and wondering when he was going to get some good news.

But with the current possible realization that Falcanar may not be letting on everything about himself, Skye would just have to let it play out. _And pray for a miracle_, he thought.

"With the _Firecross_ gone, we're down to six ships," Falcanar spoke up. "Your boys, Colonel Skye, should be in the atmosphere of the planet by now."

Down to six ships. Minus one _Sirius_ class Escort Destroyer, minus one hundred and forty personnel. Or maybe not.

Skye motioned back to the Comm. operator. "Ensign, radio the Luger Wingleader, Ask him if he confirmed escape pod launches from the _Firecross_ before it was destroyed."

"Escape pods?" Falcanar looked up.

"The _Firecross_ had a complement of thirty Mark III escape pods", Skye started. "It's logical to assume one or more launched before the _Firecross_ was destroyed. If there were launches, then they probably touched down on the surface."

_Falcanar's sweating more than plasma shells now, he's sweating torpedoes, Skye thought. I mention eecape pods and he starts looking like he was just handed a death sentence. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen very, very soon._

"You're going to radio your Bloodtail Squadron to search for pods?"

"I can't, by now they're in the atmosphere of the third planet. From this distance we couldn't get a signal to them if we tried. We'd have to wait until they finished their search for the Crosseye battlecruiser. But if there are pods, that's a few crewmen who didn't die today."

_Won't matter too much anyway. A lot more are about to die._

"Sir," the Comm. operator called to Falcanar. "The Luger Wingleader reported that there were at least three escape pods launched from the _Firecross_ during the attack," Skye briefly wondered if Falcanar was really in on whatever was about to go down, or was simply party to it. "He requests orders to proceed."

_Or else we're all going to die out here._

Skye walked over to the Comm. Station, positioning himself next to the operator. "Inform Lieutenant Traska and his men to continue RTB. What about the Away Team on the _Monolith_?"

"Still no word from them. Won't be either, not until they reactivate the Communications Array aboard it."

_We'll never hear from the away parties. At least most of the people in this room won't._

Skye glanced back at Falcanar, who still stood stoically by the central holotable. He noted that Falcanar seemed to be whispering to himself. _He's not whispering you idiot. He's praying, _Skye realized.

Confirmation.

Shit was about to go down. Big time.

And then Skye turned back to the Comm. Operator whom he had already judged. "Excuse me, could you do me one last favor?" He asked the man.

"What is it?" The operator had to be the most sincere and innocent-faced man in the entire room. He was the one who Skye judged when exactly everything went down. He was also to one Skye respected the most, for keeping such a damned good poker face on his pretty head.

Because he had been listening to his _Real_ boss's orders the entire time on his headset, on low volume.

The thing about Skye: His senses at least five times better than anyone else his age, _especially his hearing._ Regardless of how subtle or muffled the sound may be. His reflexes were at least three times as fast as that of a normal human. If someone drew a gun on Skye, there was already a bullet passing through their own head. And he was stronger and faster as well, breaking sprint and weightlifting records long thought to be set in diamond-coated granite.

"I would like you to do me a favor," Skye started. I would like you to say hello to Judas the Great Traitor when you get to the 9th level of Hell you mutinous bastard," Skye spoke with perfect calmness.

All the Comm. Operator could do was raise an eyebrow in mock surprise, but before he could react, before even Colonel Skye himself could react, it sounded across the _Sargasso_ cranked up to an ear-splitting volume and spoken by a familiar voice:

"Okay boys, sorry for the delays, BUT LET'S DO THIS!"

_

* * *

_

F'nor and Canth glided through the air over Ista Island, taking in, or trying to, all of the damage below.

Much, if not all of, the entire southern coast of Ista had been decimated. Trees and anything else more than a fraction of a dragonlength above the ground had been knocked over, uprooted, and flattened for kilometers inland, plus-hurricane force winds ripping inward from sea. Buildings closest to the sea were simply gone; those further inland had been ripped from their foundations like child's toys and blown about.

But that was not the worst of it all. It had happened late in the night here in Ista, the first rays of sunlight only just now revealing the true nature of the catastrophe. Those that had not been fortunate enough to have died instantly, either from searing heat, projectile force or crushed under their houses, were very likely still down there, pulling themselves from the wreckage, if they hadn't already died.

And now they were en route to what was left of Ista Weyr. The weyr had been lucky, it had survived relatively intact. But both surface structures and underground passages and weyr had collapsed in places. And the lowermost portions had been breached by the ocean and were now flooding.

First all of the mess that happened on the _Yoko_. His brother, Weyrleader F'lar, injured, along with his dragon Mnementh, who had a broken wing. Masterharper Sebell, out cold, possibly comatose. One Lord Holder paralyzed. All of them injured in the same blast that lit up the skies above Pern in a brilliant showing of multicolored light.

And now this. First an explosion, then Ista flattened from wind and heat and waves, then earthquakes, which were now themselves spreading across Pern, as if their very planet was being attacked, which, in a sense, was true.

The earthquakes had started right after the "incident," along the vast southern coasts of the Southern Continent. They spread out from the shores, violent, region-wide tremors, spreading far inland. Probably even as far as the Southern Mountain Ranges.

It was as if it was all accelerating out of control, faster than anyone or anything could put a stop to.

A message in the night from Weyrwoman Lessa had informed him of what had happened aboard the _Yoko_, as well as the destruction caused to the _Yoko_ by the "Vessel" He and his dragon Canth were on their way to Xanadu Weyrhold in the Southern Continent to speak to his Nephew F'lessan about using his telescope to view the Vessels when they had felt the sudden loss of an entire wing of dragons, F'nor and Canth were hit so hard it nearly paralyzed Canth with grief. Shortly after F'nor managed to calm his dragon, they received word of the devastation wreaked at Ista. And after another jump _between _here they were, seeing firsthand the ruins of the island, and what had one been one of the nicest places on the Northern Continent.

_You are worried F'nor. That is something that you rarely are._

_I have reason to be worried, _F'nor replied to his dragon, Canth._ Our world is in danger, from an enemy I have yet to even see. It, they, have caused so much damage already. They have destroyed our homes, slain innocents..._

_You will find a way to stop this new threat; I have confidence in you, in us. Even Thread fears dragons._

_I don't think whoever or whatever this is fears us, or anyone for that matter. Nor do I think they are mindless like Thread. This, _and he gestured at the carnage below their wings,_ was premeditated, by a foe that can think. I am certain of it._

Canth seemed to ponder something for a moment before speaking again. _You are right F'nor, and that makes them a far greater threat to Pern than thread. They can match our own thought, or even out-think us. Anyone for that matter, that they may deem a threat to themselves. And that is why we, Human and Dragonkind, must stop them._

F'nor was taken aback what his dragon had said. Canth had never said anything that in-depth. It was as if he had changed him somehow, as if he found resolve.

But that didn't matter, because he believed Canth. They would find a way to stop these "Vessels," or "Reddish ships" whatever they are.

_F'nor, we are approaching the Weyr now,_ Canth said.

Ista Weyr, by some roll of good fortune, had miraculously survived, narrowly escaping being ravaged by whatever had ripped across the Island. Mostly due to its outer volcanic shell and seawall on the seaward side of the Weyr, it had fared much better than the surrounding areas.

And as F'nor and Canth descended towards the Weyr bowl, they could see that most, if not all of, the dragonriders were gone. Countless empty weyrs lay empty and vacant. The few dragons they could see were apparently getting ready for a Fall. F'nor remembered that a fall was expected that day to pass over Ista.

_Most of the other dragonriders are out on the island, helping the survivors. Liteth comes._

A brown dragon had just come out of _between_ in the Weyr Bowl, gliding in and landing. His rider quickly dismounted and hopped off, landing at a run and jogging over to where F'nor and Canth had just themselves touched down. As F'nor dismounted himself, the brownrider removed his flying goggles and introduced himself.

I am Wingleader T'reas, and my brown Liteth. Weyrleader G'dened told me you were coming."

"Where is G'dened now?" F'nor asked. He had expected the Weyrleader to greet him in person.

"The Weyrleader is out over the southern coast, preparing for threadfall. He sent me to greet you and brief you on the status of the Island right now."

"I flew over part of it, I already know."

"Then you should also know that all of the dragons not needed for this fall were dispatched to help with search and rescue. Not to mention that we have Wings from Igen and Fort also coming to help-"

_F'nor they're' hurting, they're being attacked!_

And then F'nor, his Canth, and every dragon and rider in Ista and every other Weyr on Pern were hit with another massive wave of grief as only known when multiple dragons die at once.

* * *

Scraping…

That was right, scraping…

The sound of scraping, no, _digging_.

Was he underground? No, he was under his house, or what was left of it. Was he dead? In _between_ finally? No, that wasn't possible, he could still think, something you had a hard time doing in _between_, or so he heard. He could also still feel, specifically the pain in his legs and the pressure of the weight above him. All you felt while _between_ was mind-numbing cold. Or so he heard.

And then Terellan felt movement, the ruins above him were moving. And he also heard sound, no, voices, as if off in the distance.

They were shouting, he was certain of that. And they were shouting at each other, there was more than one voice. He didn't recognize him mother or father's voice or even Maranan's. He wondered if they were alright. They must have been worried sick about him.

The ruined roof of his house above him was moving again. And now he felt the pain and pressure in them relieved, though his left foot continued to throb. He could move a little now, and he could now make out the voices as speech, but for some strange reason, couldn't recognize the words.

Were they there to save him? Had they brought his mom and dad and brother? Were they helping? So many questions flooded through his mind.

As the pressure receded all at once from above him, Terellan, for a brief instant, couldn't move. He must have been entombed for longer than he had previously thought. Strong arms wrapped around him, lifting him up and carrying him away…

"Hey Captain Diet, this kid over … he's alive!"

"He's sure messed up though!"

"Lay him down … and we'll … him. Leroy, get a Med Kit over here!"

"He is? … …forty CC's of … "

"Oh ... he's going into shock…"

"I said get this kid …"

"Least' he didn't end up like … … over there."

"… …shut the … up Leroy before I shoot you myself…!"

That was all Terellan heard as he drifted off into the darkness…

* * *

Weyrleader G'dened thought, _This has been a bad day, but it is about to get worse._

For a while, right after Ista Island was turned upside down, he had been torn between his duty to fight Thread, and his duty to protect the people of Pern. But he had to fight the Threadfall. Or more people on Ista would die. Half the Weyr mobilized to help with the rescue efforts on the island, the other half, nearly two hundred strong, went between to fight the dreaded spores that were to fall on the Island and as the Fall marched across it.

They had formed up off the southern coast, in anticipation of the approaching fall, assembling into formation. Twelve Wings, as many dragons to go around evenly as possible. But it wasn't the much lower than normal numbers that concerned him. It was the fact that something out there, the site where their friends had died, something unlike anything on Pern lurked. The site was still marked, as shown by the utter lack of clouds on an otherwise cloudy day, and by how the waters still seethed and boiled with strange energies.

They continued to approach the area, expecting to see Thread falling from above. They expected to fight thread that day, and honor their lost brothers.

Instead what they got was quite different.

It had just been sitting there, floating over the waters of southern Ista, more or less where the Fall had begun. G'dened recognized it in an instant: the Second Vessel.

And it was utterly huge. It had to be at least several hundred dragonlengths in length. It had a long, tapered appearance like a cone, tapering to a point from a semi-bulbous body. Its six "wings" seemed to glint with rage and anger, although the Weyrleader's rational mind told him it was sunlight. Its blood-colored skin seemed artificial and mottled, as if great chunks of bulkhead had been attached in odd places. It was covered with the same protrusions he had seen in the old images AIVAS had shown, of "gun emplacements" and "weapon batteries."

And suddenly those "guns" began to turn towards the approaching wings. And then everything went mad.

As the flashes began and dragons died in agony, G'dened saw a half-dozen grayish blurs streak from the Sun towards the Vessel, the last things he ever saw.

* * *

_Sorry, a little bit of editing in progress here._

_Also, I'm not dead. :D_


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter Ten. It may seem like this is taking a long time(It has), but it's going to speed up from here. I revised my current plan for the rest of the story and I'm going to have to extend what's left into two chapters._

_The next chapter(Chapter 11)should come pretty quickly, expect to see it in a few weeks. Mostly I have been busy doing other things, I'm sad to admit, This post was delayed incredibly because of Bungie Software releasing Halo 3, which I have been beating the crap out of for the last couple of weeks. _

_I have decided on a final plan for the last few chapters, and this is set in stone. two more chapters, the second being an Epilogue of sort, and another post containing some information, cut-scenes, coming attractions, etc. I was originally going to make this the last chapter, but in the end I realized I had way too much to squeeze it all into one, so I split it up, I did a word count and I found that altogether it would have had about 11,000 words, (the length of some short stories). And since it is already mostly written, It's going to come a lot faster that other posts._

_I know I have probably caused a few people to blow a bulb or two with confusing technobabble, so in the I'm going to list the terms that are used here that I came up with(Take Quarkium for example.(What the frack is quarkium? Even I'm not sure!)) I'll include a few cut-scenes i never included, and why I didn't. And, as a special, I'll include a special scene for just the hell of it._

_And enough of me blabbering, it's time for reviews:_

_**Spazzcat-The-Neji-Glomper:** Nice name, though I haven't the foggiest idea what it means. What's a 'neji glomper"? but about the question, the Monolith has (or rather,had) a "Master AI" commanding it. It guided itself to the Rukbat system following a series of preset commands entered years before. I wrote that a few chapters back I think. I hope that answers your question.  
_

_**Mr. Tim; Zeonia; JudyL:** I am going to finis the story, hopefully before Christmas. I haven't given up on it._

_**RSegovia:** I got on one day to check my Inbox and there's a gazillion notices from FFNet from reviews. I don't know where to begin. _

_You are wondering how long after the last novel this takes place. I decided that it takes place about a year(or thereabouts) after the events in The Skies of Pern, which was the most recent 9th Pass novel._

_I'm not trying to be mysterious, everything has a reason._

_Disappearing Figures? (scratches head) where'd that come from?_

_The dragons can communicate with the fighter pilots more easily than most others because they have a certain level of telepathy already. It has to do with their being genetically enhanced during their Flight training. I won't explain it all now, but I'm saving the more in depth stuff about the pilots for the sequel._

_Thread consumes carbon. So it's pretty bad if you happen to fly into a drift of it while inside a ship with an semi-organic hull. made of it. Try to imagine dunking your hand into a vat of sulfuric acid, something similar._

_I read your story a while back over a bottle of rum. I wouldn't mind seeing it continue. It needs updates, and Rum. Any good pirate story has to have Rum, and eye patches. Especially eye patches._

_**Favrite of Chaos:** Pern will beat back the Hun, so to speak. It will probably all go down in the next chappy._

_**cathrl:** "For everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven." Someone famous said that I think. It applies also about the paragraph in question. There was a reason I phrased it such, a reason I probably won't reveal until the sequel._

_That was the reviews. and now for some "Random Humor":_

_On the_ Kikital_, during Lunch_

Falsner: "There must be some kind of way out of here,"

Capris: "Said the joker to the thief,"

Valero: "There's too much confusion here,"

Texas: "I can't get no relief-"

Skye: You Idiots! stop singing Bob Dylan or they'll think this is a Pern-Battlestar Crossover!

Parker: "Sir, I think they already do."

_And that was "Random Humor". Now to the Story!_

**NOTE: I do not own the Dragonriders Series. Anne McCaffrey does. My OCs are my own.**

* * *

**IMPACT**

_Ignorance was bliss._

_If the humans knew what was about to happen to them, they certainly wouldn't be 'blissful'._

_Only half of the planet's population would be aware of the instant they died. The other half lost in their dreams, deep asleep. All that would be left of the planet five minutes later would be a rapidly forming asteroid belt. The way it should be._

_The remaining two hive minds now sat at the exact spot where their brother had died. Where a handful of cowardly humans with their primitive ways had so wrongfully slew their brother._

_They will all pay. Dearly. With their blood. And then their lives._

_And as if some intentional way of rubbing in their grief where it hurt the most, they returned._

_There were over two hundred of them, of all varying sizes, in various formations, all headed in their direction._

_They came closer, closer. The humans came on their pathetic beasts of burden to lay waste to the Minds, or so they thought. But not today on this hallowed day, everything was going to die._

_And they came._

_They attacked point blank; psychic blows rattled and vibrated the powerful shielding that encased the battlecruiser, a myriad of weak fools lashing out against the giant. Although it would finally explain their brother's downfall: Wingtips lacked the kind of heavy psychic shielding that so thoroughly protected them now._

_But the minds had had enough. The humans were but insects to them. And the Minds struck back._

_The Creatures were the psychic assailants; their screams as they died and slipped into nonexistence rippled across the psychic spectrum, music of exceeding pleasure to the receptors of the Minds as their weapons made short work of the creatures and the humans that were, curiously enough, bonded to them. A telepathic link? But it did not matter the least, they were all going to die anyway-_

_And _they_ came. The despoilers that had been deemed the true source of sources of their sorrow._

_The humans on the ragtag fleet that had lured the Hive Minds to this nightmare place. The ones who had deceived the Minds into thinking this world was far more. The humans that had truly been the ones who were to be hated._

_But only six came._

_They collided with the psychic swarm and the holy burning plasma that was the form of the Minds' vengeance. The six 'fighter pilots' as they were called upon their own, underestimated their environment; the nightmare they had waltzed willingly into. Here was prey that was now worthy of the Minds' attention. Prey that was worthy of their kill._

_The hunt was on._

_

* * *

_

"Falsner, this isn't going to be a recon mission, is it?"

The reassuring words of Capris came through Lt. Falsner's .comm. headset like a specter of his own conscience. Falsner had already come to the conclusion even before their last transmission with the_ Sargasso_ that the Crosseyes were seeing red. And, considering that they were over a planet whose populace had somehow managed to strike a blow to the Crosseyes, and said planet had absolutely no defensive capacities whatsoever, The Crosseyes were now considering the entire planet a high priority target. Whoever that was planetside were now in grave danger.

Falsner had also come to a conclusion about the bizarre auroral lights Raccoon noticed in her continuous sensor sweeps of the planet. They seemed to be lighting up the atmosphere all over the dark side of the planet. Pt. Thurst had noticed that the upper atmosphere was highly charged with heavy amounts of di-ionic radiation, a by-product of a quarkium-based superweapon, like the Crosseye Battlecruiser's Forward Cannon.

And if the Crosseyes had fired that terrifying weapon already, more than likely before the Fleet had even arrived, then they were running out of time.

And Falsner had decided on a change of plan.

"To hell with recon," Falsner said over the Comm. There are people down there, and I'm not going to let them be quarkium cannon fodder."

"I agree for a change," Chuk-Chuk said. "To Hell with our orders."

"As do I Falsner. I got your back," It was Texas.

"Alright, now that that's settled, prep for reentry along the indicated flight course. Let's see how close we can get to ground zero. Raccoon, full sensor sweeps with your sensor node, everyone else, weapons free as soon as we're in the atmosphere. Lock down the fusion drives and prep the atmospheric engines."

Falsner heard an almost unanimous 'aye-aye'.

So this is it, he thought. Their first confrontation with a Crosseye Capital Ship. If they had made improvements to their cap ships like they did to their fighters, then this was going to be a harsh and brutal fight. And some of them may not even come back. The pilots that made up the 4022nd had long since accepted the fact that they were more than likely going to die in space. Whatever family or loved ones they had also accepted this. Since the HIP took him under their wing, this was the life that Falsner knew, and accepted. And lived for.

Reentry had been uneventful; the only hang-up was when Falsner had to make pitch adjustments to compensate for the damage his Stiletto had taken during the previous engagement. For a moment, Falsner thought he would not be able to survive reentry without burning up, but some quick calculations from on Capris' behalf had saved him from a fiery end to his career.

Other than narrowly surviving a near-death experience, Falsner was unshaken. He'd survived worse. He was trained to. But, considering everything he'd experienced in his four-year service in the C.T.S., what he was about to experience would likely push his experience to its utmost limits.

Six Stilettos against a single Crosseye Battlecruiser. There weren't worse odds than that. Even in the Simulators they had never survived with more that half their squadron intact. And considering that the new cloaks the bladefighters sported, as well as plasma warheads that could punch through shields like nothing, the battlecruiser will have undoubtedly have gotten stronger as well. It had held its own against the _Monolith_, a ship far stronger and more powerful that a battlecarrier like the _Sargasso_. None of them may survive the coming battle.

"Raccoon, what's the status of the active sweep?"

"Nothing one hundred klicks out," Came Raccoon's voice through the Comm headset. "We will hit the shoreline of the landmass on the northern side of the planet, at least the direction the standard magcomp is pointing, in less than five minutes."

"Boost the output to five hundred klicks, The Crosseyes have improved themselves in the last thousand years, I don't want to get caught with my pants down. What about passive scans of the planet?"

"Atmosphere consists of oxygen, carbon dioxide, nitrogen, methane, the usual old Terran norm," Valero started. "Nice place to retire one day, if we live that long. And Sir, the readout on the atmospheric ratios of oxygen to methane suggests, well-"

"Well what?"

"It suggests, well, agricultural activity High methane-CO2 to oxygen ratios. At least that's the textbook term."

"I guess you were right all along," Texas came through the Comm then. "It pays to fly with you man, just discovery after discovery, first one to tangle with the Crosseyes, then you discover some Lost Colony. And when the build a statue of you they'll know that I was there backing you up man-"

"Save the chat for later, we got Crosseye contact!" Valero came back on Falsner's Comm. "I repeat, positive contact on a Crosseye Battlecruiser four-fifty klicks out, ETA two minutes… What the hell-"

Raccoon cut off suddenly. "Valero, come in, what is it?"

"Falsner, I'm detecting almost _two hundred_ other bogeys of varying size and altitude approaching the Battlecruiser, along vector oh-three-five-"

"_What in the Hell_? Are you sure?" Falsner half-shouted into his headset, only barely believing it. Raccoon, patch me in to your Sensor system for a moment."

"Y-Yessir," he replied.

Falsner tapped several buttons on his main view screen display and saw what Raccoon saw on his. Dozens of small and medium-sized blips each with its own 'UNKNOWN" tag approaching one very large blip that had a "CE-BC" as its tag. "Crosseye Battlecruiser" of course. And Falsner could see the groupings of the blips indicated various formations; He could make out the common Arrowhead formation in several; of the apparent subgroups and even what appeared to be a Phalanx. And the Lieutenant drew a quick conclusion:

These were the local defense forces. And they were responding to the Crosseye offensive.

"Falsner, could it be those locals you mentioned, possibly the same ones that might've taken out that Wingtip?" Chuk-Chuk then came on the Comm channel, the first time he had spoken since reentry.

"Maybe, but more than likely we'll know in thirty seconds," Lt. Falsner said quickly into his Comm headset. "Weapons loose, I repeat, weapons loose," Falsner switched back to his normal layout and then made several quick calculations on his view screen readout. "Adjust your headings to the parameters I'm sending. Prepare to initiate the blind dive tactic on my wing."

"The blind dive?" Capris came on, the hint of surprise in her voice. "Against a battlecruiser?"

"It's not the battlecruiser shooting I'm worried about, it's whatever that's not shooting back."

The "Blind Man's Dive" was a general aerial ambush technique that had existed in one form or another since perhaps Man strapped a pair of guns to an airplane and had to fight another gun-strapped airplane, It was an effective tactic to use even against the strongest opponent, and yet was so inherently simple that a rookie pilot could pick it up in a day: Simply put your back to the Sun and/or some other very bright light source and the enemy in front of you, and charge them. Usually guns blazing. Hopefully, your target wouldn't know you were there until your shells were ripping him to shreds.

Even with radar picking you up, the target would hesitate. If the light source also produced heat, all the better because a heatseeker might ignore you, and autocannons were useless if you couldn't see your target to shoot clearly at.

And at the current moment, it seemed an effective tactic. Considering the unknown bogeys' current behavior, they weren't expecting immediate contact. They even appeared to be taking their time approaching the Battlecruiser. If it were the same ones that attacked and destroyed the Wingtip Bomber, were they overconfident after a success?

_No, somehow that wasn't it, _he thought. Then another possibility occurred to him. Was it possible that the locals didn't have the technology to even know that fellow Terrans had arrived above their world? That they did not even have the capacity to detect the ships that were in orbit? Or even the squadron if fighters closing on them at mach-plus speeds?

It seemed a satisfactory explanation, the one explanation that would explain a lot. How there was no standard planetside hail or any hail at all when the _Firecross_ popped into orbit above the planet. Or the apparent lack of any other satellites or ships in orbit aside from that derelict colonizer. Or any other indications of high technology for that matter. Like electric grid-lit coastlines on the nightside of the planet, big clue there.

But Falsner didn't have time to think anymore about it, because even his passive sensors detected the huge energy discharges originating from the Battlecruiser.

And then Falsner's head exploded in agony, so severe that he nearly blacked out, so severe that his eyes squeezed tight involuntarily and his teeth were gritted shut.

He heard, _voices_, screaming in pain. Dozens of distinct, separate voices all in agony, all burning with searing pain, all screaming all at once. Falsner suddenly heard other voices, these familiar, all yelling at him-

The Lieutenant suddenly came to, momentarily disoriented, his head feeling like it was splitting in two in pain. And then he saw the scene through the forward cockpit canopy and he was filled with a bizarre mix of dumbfoundedness, shock, and disbelief. On top of the migraine he just received.

What appeared to be dozens upon dozens of none other than some form or kind of winged avians were swarming around the enormous battlecruiser; several suddenly fell from the sky and plunged into the waters below the aerial battle, no doubt ripped apart by the plasma bursts that were lighting up the airspace around the battlecruiser. And they were way too close and approaching way too fast-

"Oh shit! Break off, break off godsdammit!" Falsner screamed as the squadron plunged headlong into the chaotic, clearly uneven battle. What the hell was this? Falsner expected fighter craft of some kind, not frigging _birdmen_. Falsner clearly saw a man strapped to the back of one of the bird-avians as he sped by like a bullet, doing his best to dodge both plasma volleys being lobbed by the battlecruiser and flocks of the bird-creatures or whatever the hell they were swarming around, also apparently trying to dodge the volleys of incinerating plasma.

Falsner swung wide and clear of the Battlecruiser's port side, its main deck weapons flashing like high intensity strobes, strobes that could vaporize a starfighter and pilot in a microsecond all the while dodging a myriad rainbow sea of color that was the locals' answer to the Crosseye offensive. He was jarred almost into unconsciousness as he executed a triple-g twist to dodge a large bronze-colored avian with mount to boot that literally appeared _out of thin air_ in his flight path, with a microsecond to respond. He managed to swerve, but he thought that his port wing had still managed to clip one of the avian's.

And suddenly in mere seconds, they seemed to be clear of it, all six of the Stilettos. And then Falsner saw over the corner of the canopy that two of his friends were trailing smoke: Raccoon and Chuk-Chuk. Raccoon's port wing had been shredded by a plasma burst; Chuk-Chuk's starboard engine had sucked in debris from something and shelled itself, trailing sickly grayish-black smoke that said _bad_. And they were both out of the fight. Raccoon's own craft shuddered and vibrated heavily, it seemed ready to disintegrate at any moment.

"Well," Raccoon began, "It looks like I'm gonna have to sit this one out guys."

"Crap, this isn't good, my engines are shot, literally," Chuk-Chuk said only half jokingly.

No chance of them surviving the exit back into space. Raccoon's Stiletto would burn up as it left the atmosphere. The heat would melt his craft from the inside out. And with just two of his three engines, Chuk-Chuk would never build up enough momentum to reach escape velocity. By the looks of it he was barely flying for now.

"Rac, Chuk, alter course and head for the large landmass along vector triple-oh. Start broadcasting an SOS on all Comm. channels, and find somewhere flat and bail out," Falsner said into his Comm mike, struggling to hide the nervous apprehension he was feeling. "Stay out of sight until we can send a rescue party. _If_ we can. There's no way of telling if these 'people', or whoever they are, are friendly or not."

"I understand," Raccoon said. "Over and out then sir."

"Ugh, I hate this, over and out." Chuk-Chuk also said.

"Umm, sir, we've got a new problem," Raccoon came back on the Comm.

"What now?" Falsner said.

"The battlecruiser we just did a flyby over, it's moving, and it's started to chase us, operable weapons range in thirty seconds, and about the other bogeys, there only looks like a few dozen of them or so are left-"

"Crap, the two of you get out of here. Amata, Valero, Texas, form up on my wing," Falsner barked.

Falsner, what're we gonna do?" Texas spoke.

Lieutenant Falsner's head pounded, between the migraine and the situation and the clear possibility he was losing his mind, he struggled to think. He wished he could rub his temple, but the faceplate on his helmet prevented it. And in the chaos, he saw order.

Falsner spoke calmly into his Comm mike. "The only way to teach a junkyard dog that's chasing you a lesson is to turn around and give it a swift kick in the chops. Full one-eighty, let's finish the Godsdamned Crosseyes off here and now once and for all."

"Deamn, Falsner, that's deep," Texas said.

Amidst the tumult in Falsner's head, he thought that there couldn't be a worse situation. They weren't just fighting a Crosseye Battlecruiser anymore. They were fighting a _pissed off_ Crosseye Battlecruiser. A Battlecruiser that had wiped out nearly two hundred of those avian creatures like nothing. A Battlecruiser that, as Falsner's Stiletto swung around in a one-eighty arc, Falsner could clearly see in the distance.

It was headed dead in their direction, like a crimson six-pointed star on a blue backdrop of the sky. And it was rapidly growing.

And the lieutenant saw something that made his already chilled blood run even colder: The Battlecruiser's pointed bow was slowly opening up outwards, as a flower' petals did at dawn, its interior glowing brightly.

It was preparing to fire its Quarkium Energy Cannon.

Oh Shit.

"Texas, Valero, break off, rake its starboard side as it passes by, Capris, you're with me, we'll give it Hell on its port side, If we can get to its engines, whoever's still alive can fire your torpedoes up its ass. it's now or never by the looks of it." The Lieutenant rattled off orders automatically, almost instinctively.

"Aye-aye," they responded. No fear, no hesitation at all. They all knew the odds were well against them.

They all knew this would likely be their final battle.

_

* * *

_

Lessa and her gold dragon Ramoth would have died. Had it not been for the fact that they had been flying so high, and the intervention of a certain white dragon and Lord Holder, they would have died when almost all of Ista Weyr was slaughtered in an instant.

There had been no instant, intense pain from Ramoth like last time, It was so quick and overwhelming that the Gold dragon and her rider simply blacked out from the onslaught of pain.

Blackness.

Like _between_. It was all that Lessa felt for an indeterminable amount of time when a familiar voice broke through the inky darkness.

_Lessa._

_Wake up._

_Why?_ She thought. She liked it here, she wanted to stay.

_Why? WHY? Because you are needed! You must wake up!_

She snapped to, still in her riding straps on Ramoth's back, still over ocean. Still alive.

What had changed was that she had company. A white dragon was flying alongside Ramoth.

Ruth, the White Dragon. Along with his rider Jaxom, The Lord of Ruatha Hold.

_A few more seconds, and you would have been killed when you hit the water. You are fortunate I have become as strong as I am now Weyrwoman_, Ruth's voice sounded clearly in her mind. _Jaxom says that the Vessel is further south from here. He has a mental image from the place where it is now, and he so we will go between and see for ourselves what it is doing here._

_Where did he get the coordinates?_

_From G'dened; Jaxom wanted me to contact him immediately when he heard that the Vessels were no longer in orbit. His dragon sent me the image, before he and his rider were both lost between, killed by the Second Vessel._

Both vessels were missing, or rather only one was. The other had apparently just slaughtered almost all of Ista Weyr. Her mate and the Weyrleader of Benden Weyr, F'lar, was down for the count, his dragon injured. The Masterharper of Pern, Sebell, was in a coma. Most of the Island of Ista in ruins after a terrible tragedy. And the very real possibility that Pern was facing destruction. And now G'dened, The Weyrleader of Ista, was dead. On top of everything else it seemed incredulous, almost small in comparison. But they all had to put their mourning of the dead on hold.

_And where are the Vessels now?_

_According to what Jaxom said, some ways from where they were, but not far. And Lessa, there are others there too, smaller vessels as well._

The smaller vessels. Lessa remembered back on the _Yoko_, how on the radar displays, the tiny vessels had fought. How their movements had mimicked those of the dragons. And of how they had fought the smaller Vessels from the Second Vessel. If these Vessels chasing the Second Vessel were the same ones…

_Okay then Ruth, inform your rider that we are going to find them. Hopefully, we may still be able to stop these—things, or people, or whatever they are._

The immediate response from Ruth was surprising, a mental chuckle. _And how, my dear Weyrwoman, do you plan on stopping the Vessels with just two dragons and two humans? I was strong enough to stop you and my mother from certain death, but I cannot do what dozens of others from Ista have already tried. _Ruth's mental voice buzzed with a mock surprise and a level of intelligence Lessa would have never expected from the White Dragon, not any dragon for that matter. His eyes spun a rapidly whirling shade of yellow reflecting his surprise. And Ramoth, her own dragon, had barely said a word at all since this whole thing started. But Lessa did not have time to think on this. She and all of Pern had so very little time left.

_I do have a plan, Ruth,_ Lessa replied. _As for whether or not it will work, it's up to other people we have yet to meet._

* * *

A'rak, dazed as he may be, was simply stunned by the amount of destruction his dragon Lageth had caused in such a brief amount of time.

A'rak leaned heavily against one of the craft, his right leg badly lacerated when an explosive of some kind detonated near Lageth as he rampaged through the cavern, destroying practically everything in sight in a blind rage, believing for a moment that the ones that they had followed into the Vessel as being the ones that had killed Lageth's brothers and sisters. The rampage caused many of the craft to burst into flames, which were, less than a minute later, doused by of all things, _rain_.

But even the artificial water that so easily swept aside the flames could do nothing for the acrid, awful stench that now filled the chamber the dragonrider stood in, surrounded by the charred carcasses of the craft that had led him and his dragon here.

And A'rak had heard the death cries as clearly as Lageth had, countless dragons dying so quickly that they knew not what had even killed them, a death so horrific it seemed unimaginable. Who, or what for that matter, could kill so many dragons and dragonriders all at once? The pain had ripped into A'rak's dragon like a lance to his heart, a pain only relieved by the blessing of sleep.

And now Lageth could barely move at all. The stress from the prolonged spacewalk, combined with the further stress of the sadness he felt and the rampage through the cavernous chamber on the Vessel had reduced the proud dragon to a shadow of its former self. His hide was a pallid shade of gray, and he lay curled up next to a wall of the cavern, lost wearily in sleep.

A'rak knew that it would take several hours _at the very least_ before his dragon would be in any condition to take flight, or even go _between_.

But what worried A'rak most was that the Vessel was moving. Or at least it felt like it was moving. Some time after the flames had died, he had felt a vibration, a hum almost through the floor, then a sudden jolt. And ever since he had felt tha0t steady vibration.

So he had nothing to do in the meantime, other than to ponder all that he had seen, and wonder if a Harper somewhere would write a ballad of his actions this day.

And he also, for the time being, had the opportunity to study the strange, miniature vessels in detail, up close. Or at least what was left of them.

As he walked through the wreckage, He had noticed that many only appeared to have only a single seat. As if to support only a single person, while several seemed larger, as if able to house more that one, like the old shuttle that had been found buried at Landing. He walked up to one of the large craft, of the other two that were like it, it was the least damaged.

To A'rak, it lay on its side, one of its wings missing. Considering its design, had it not been missing a wing it probably would not have been able to do that. And on closer inspection as he walked around it, he noticed a faint glow coming from within, through what appeared to be a window of some kind-

And then A'rak saw movement from within, as if someone had passed in front of the view port. Was someone in it still?

And A'rak recalled, right after he heard the cries of pain through his link with his dragon, that as he looked through Lageth's eyes, he had seen a single person jump headlong into the very craft he stood in front of.

A'rak tapped on the view-port, its surface cold to the touch. "Hello? Is anyone in there?" he said loudly as he leaned into the window, trying to make out any movement at all.

He was so focused peering into the murky interior, trying to discern movement in the darkness that he never noticed the movement behind him until a hard cold object was pressed roughly at the base of his neck.

"I could have killed you when you started walking over here, could have put a round right through the view-port even," the voice behind him said. "But you don't look like the type to deserve that."

_And that's a wrap. The last chapter coming soon!_


	11. Chapter 11

_Greetings, once again!_ _I am back with an update for the story. My reason for not updating the story in the last 2 or 3 months can be blamed on the failure of my graphics card, and the wait for a replacement, as well as the fact that this chapter has been by far the toughest to write. But nevertheless, order has been restored to my computer, the chapter is done, and here it is, for your reading pleasure._

_

* * *

_**IMPULSE**

_As one Hive Mind orchestrated the offensive against the six fighter craft, the Second Hive Mind analyzed the data from the engagement with the draconic avians, with startling results. They were indeed strong telepaths. But what was most startling was how strong they were. Collectively, it was beyond anything the Minds, or any other of their Kind had ever before analyzed. even individually they were immensely powerful._

_But if this was the case, than the data from their engagement with the avians totally contradicted this new data. Why?_

_The Mind concluded that they were simply untrained, undisciplined. Each mind in the T'Hranii Hive underwent a dozen cycle-long meditation in the void of deep space early in their lifetime, to focus and sharpen their telepathic capacities. If the psyches of the draconic creatures had undergone any serious mental training, especially perhaps, early in their lifespan, the Minds would have never stood a chance against them._

_And as it continued the analysis, the Mind discovered the network the minds of the avians formed._

_It was almost beautiful. The new fact that each was in fact a separate entity, at the same time part of a single organism. Not at all unlike the Hive Minds themselves. It would have been more beautiful if many of the humans on the world weren't part of the network as well. There was a term, a Human term, for this phenomenon. The Mind would have liked to study it further. But the Mind dismissed it. The humans here had to die, regardless of the method. And, with its analysis completed, the Mind had devised a method, lest they fail in their plan._

_It boosted the output of the Communication net on their body, seeking out one of the fleeing draconics, and without the creature even aware of it, made several, subtle changes it the algorithms that organized the functioning of its mind._

_It was a failsafe. A safeguard, if by some off chance the humans managed to defeat them. And as a last safeguard, it accessed the datanodes of the drone craft, now far out in the system, and transferred the data collected thus far to it. Soon, it would return to T'Hranii space. Perhaps other minds could study the data further._

_And the Mind, its task finished, merged with its brother to become one, and to soon become one with their fallen brother on the other side._

_

* * *

Rukbat 3, 12:51 hundred hours_

"Falsner, we ain't gonna get out of this alive, are we?" Texas said into his Comm.

"Probably, probably not."

"Well, what're our chances then?"

This Falsner had already mulled over. With a wing of six it had been at 55 percent, the chances off them bringing down the Battlecruiser. Now with only two-thirds of that, it had dropped. And considerably at that.

"About thirty-three point three repeating, give or take to account for variability," Falsner replied.

"You're joking, it's really repeating?"

"I suddenly feel reassured," Capris spoke calmly. "Well, let's do this!"

And like that, like tons of bricks, they slammed into each other with mind-boggling, jarring force.

The microsecond the battlecruiser entered the optimal range on his rangefinder, Falsner popped the protective covers off the missile tubes in the nose and two of the four DK-12 Heatseekers flew from the Stiletto. In seconds they hit Mach 4 and, at the already incredible velocities in place, they locked on and hit the battlecruiser inside of a single second, hitting and passing through the battlecruiser's armor like a hot knife through margarine. The twin explosions blew whole sections of armor off the sides of the ship's prow. More explosions followed, the results of the attacks from Falsner's wingmen as their own missiles impacted the Crosseye ship.

Falsner and Capris broke away from Valero and Texas, barely a hundred meters from the battlecruiser when they did, so close they glimpsed the enormous filament crystal that was the focus of the Crosseye's devastating Quarkium Beam Weapon. So close that they could see the seams in its organic reddish armor. So close in fact, that the point defenses on the battlecruiser were incapable of safely engaging the four fighters, not without hitting the ship they were attempting to protect.

Too close. But it didn't matter to the Crosseye ship, safely or not it started to shoot at them anyways.

The Muzzle flashes blinded Falsner's peripheral vision as he sped past, faster than the ship's forward plasma batteries could track. The enormous plasma shells blinked past him, shells meant for combat against far larger ships. Explosions flashed around Falsner's Stilleto as the point defenses started to track him. Barely two seconds after Falsner passed the bow he shot between the central and upper rear ailerons of the battlecruiser and past the engines, their bright glow outshined still by the shells still flying past.

But only three made it past the gauntlet.

Falsner only saw Texas when he flew by the engines. It took him a second extra to see the fireball plunging into the ocean below.

The remains of Valero's Stiletto. It hit the water and sunk instantly, out of sight. Falser didn't see a chute anywhere.

Falsner didn't have time to register the impact of Valero's death. The battlecruiser was turning hard to its port side, hell bent on bringing the Stilettos back into range of its batteries.

Falsner swung around, Capris still on his wing, Texas speeding up on his rear. The battlecruiser's engines were in clear view, but would be out of shot in seconds as the Crosseyes maneuvered to intercept. Falsner throttled his strained craft to the max, the additional g-force pushing him back into his seat. The rangefinder flashed green and Texas and Capris let loose their remaining Missiles, Falsner ready to launch his an instant later-

What the Battlecruiser did next none of them ever expected.

To Falsner, the Battlecruiser's engines simply exploded. The enormous fireball that suddenly erupted from the thrusters engulfed and detonated the missiles while they were still in flight, engulfing the three remaining fighter craft an instant later.

The blast flung Falsner's Stiletto aside like a fragment of tissue paper. His craft abruptly lost all guidance and directional systems as the fireball engulfed him. The engines stalled, choking on the superheated vapors flowing into them, and the craft began to instantly plunge toward the sea.

Falsner realized that his craft was in a tailspin without ever looking through the canopy. He could feel it, the felling that if he didn't do something miraculous quickly, he was going to die in a watery grave on some alien world.

As the view cleared, The Lieutenant gunned the sputtering engines, flooding the ignition chambers with fuel, all the while angling the nose down to get air moving under the wings. With only seconds to spare, He yanked back on the stick as hard as he could, wrestling the beaten craft back into flight.

Falsner struggled to climb. The Stiletto was on its last leg. The hull had taken a serious beating. Most of the systems were barely functioning. And there was still more to come. He had a Battlecruiser to kill.

He scanned the horizon for his fellow fliers, any trace of them. He saw the battlecruiser, diving low to the water, seeming to lose altitude. He saw his craft around him in little more than tatters.

And he saw the wreck, floating on the water bobbing several kilometers away, the serial number on what was left of the tail section matching Capris' identification tag.

And the grief finally caught up to Falsner, but for only an instant before revenge took its place.

He would have time to mourn his fallen comrades and his Love later, after he finished the Crosseyes off once and for all.

He saw the cruiser more clearly now. It left a trail in the form of a massive plume of smoke in its wake, fueled by fires in its gut. Despite the fact that much of its forward section was smoldering and burning in the oxygen atmosphere, the bright blue glow still shone through the smoke and gases. The Bloodtail Squadron or, what was now left of it, had only wounded the Beast, not slain it.

Falsner brought his craft around, to bear down on the damaged battlecruiser. He scanned his instruments. His Gun readout was not responding. Neither was his torpedo Readout. He tried the Eject release, only to find that the canopy had been jammed in place, fused to the frame by the heat of the blast. The he tried the Comm. He was not surprised to find that all he got was static on all bands. He had no offensive power left, no communication, and now, no way out.

Except one alternative.

And then Lieutenant Falsner resigned himself to what he had to do.

The Battlecruiser was directly on his nose in front of him. It continued to steadily lose altitude. Falsner made the last course adjustments before he hit the thrusters that would send him hurdling at the Battlecruiser's main engine-

When the entire Crosseye ship abruptly nosed down and accelerated far more than gravity should allow and slammed into the water with a spectacular plume of water.

It sliced through the waves until it stopped abruptly, its shattered nose impacting the seafloor almost half a kilometer down. The cruiser's rear stuck out of the sea, showered by the plume it had created, engines glowing through the mist more brightly than before.

Falsner simply sat there in his cockpit seat, speechless, watching it all through the warped canopy. Since when did the Crosseyes commit suicide?

And then Falsner realized that the Cruiser was trying to thrust out of its watery environment, as if it was being held under by something or someone. But who would do that, or would be even capable of doing that-

_I suggest doing something that will destroy that Vessel, instead of just flying around in circles, silly human._

It wasn't so much the fact he just heard an odd voice in his head, but more the fact that it was giving him a direct order, as odd as it sounded. These kinds of voices tended to suggest, not direct. But for all intents and purposes the Lieutenant was probably going insane. Hearing voices and getting frequent migraines were the signs of a neurological disorder or a mental deficiency of some kind-

_I'm not a headache you dimglow._

Falsner chuckled to himself. And then he started laughing uncontrollably before speaking to no one in particular. "That's what it says at first you know! Eventually it's telling you to that it's the Gods themselves speaking, then it's telling you to kill your Commanding Officer while he's asleep or drunk, followed by your wingmen and then your grandmother-"

_Believe me, I am real. If you look above and behind your vessel you'll see myself and my rider, Lord Jaxom of Ruatha Hold. At least we believe that is you sitting there._

The Lieutenant looked above and behind his craft, out through the heat-warped canopy glass.

And he saw one of the avian creatures drafting in his wake, its stark white hide and brilliant crystal blue eyes beginning to reflect the rays of sun peeking over the horizon at sea level. It had, or appeared to have, six limbs altogether, four legs and two wings, held rigid in his craft's wake. It was in fact only slightly smaller than the Stiletto Falsner flew. It was accompanied by another of the avians, this one far larger. That one had a deep gold hide, shining as well with the first rays of sun. And he could see someone on the back of each of the avian creatures, enough to tell that they, or them, appeared to be human.

_Do you believe me now? My name is Ruth, and I am what you may call a telepath. My mother holds the Vessel in place but she cannot keep it in place for much longer. If you are going to do something that would destroy that abomination, do it now._

The words and voice in his head had knocked him back to his senses. "Telepathy explains it. So you want me to destroy the Crosseye Battlecruiser?

_If that is what you call it, yes. It has killed many of my brothers and sisters, and countless humans as well._

"Ok. I'll do that, if you would do something for me."

_A favor? _The avian called Ruth seemed to pause a moment at this._ And what would that be?_

"Some clicks back several of my men went down. If there are any survivors, I would like you or your Lord Jaxom or whoever to try to rescue them if they're alive. And a couple more split off, last I heard they were looking for dry land to bail out. And if any of them are alive, tell them Lieutenant Thomas Falsner sends his regards from the other side. "

_We will be sure to do that, but why are you-_

"Goodbye, Ruth."

And then Falsner gunned the engines, guiding his craft on its final course.

He had been only a few clicks away fro the floundering Crosseye vessel. He crossed the space in seconds, his Stiletto guided right into the main engine nacelle._ One life for many_, he thought.

He thought briefly about how he had wished he had been relaxing on a beach somewhere on shore leave, about how he could have spent more time with Capris. About a promotion to Lieutenant Colonel that Colonel Skye had said he was deserving of. He even thought about his home, how his parents would take the news of his death. And then he thought about the Red Baron.

The last thing Falsner thought before everything went black was that he never returned the book about the early Aeronaut Manfred von Richthofen to its owner on the _Sargasso_.

* * *

Ramoth had to let go of the Vessel, the instant before the explosion. The effort would have killed her and her rider otherwise.

And the Queen's rider thought she didn't have the strength, albeit it was a consuming effort to hold it still. But neither the Golden Queen or her rider or the White Dragon or Lord Jaxom expected what the man named Thomas Falsner would do.

He crashed his strange craft into the Second Vessel. Deliberately. _Suicidally_. The Weyrwoman knew there was no way he could have survived, even less so as for what happened next.

The Second Vessel simply blew outwards in all directions, jagged flaming chunks of debris dragonlengths long hurled into the air like so many fragments of wherhide, as they were propelled by the massive, titanic explosion. The White and Gold dragons went _between_ instants before certain doom, lest they be sucked there after the Flier.

And when they came out of it eight seconds later, they emerged on a very different world it seemed.

What remained of the Vessel sluggishly floundered on the surface of the Central Sea, almost completely obscured by the rapidly rising fireball that expanded above it. The very clouds themselves seemed to be in retreat, thrusted away by the shockwave, caused by the Vessels demise. Not a trace of its crimson armor clearly visible. Every surface seemed to be burning or smoldering, continuing to do so even after it slipped back beneath the surface for once and for all, bits of smoking debris bobbing on the water and the steadily rising mushroom cloud that hunk over the area like a pallid marker of death.

It had all happened so quickly, that it took the Weyrwoman a full minute to register all of it. The battle they had witnessed between Falsner and his fellow fliers and the Vessel, his subsequent pursuit, their contact with him and finally his sacrifice, a sacrifice that may have very well saved Pern.

The Weyrwoman and Lord Holder spent the next several hours keeping their promise to the Flier, carefully searching where the three craft had gone down; bits and pieces of debris on the surface were all that were left of the Fliers and their craft. But despite Ramoth's and Ruth's sharp eyesight, no survivors could be seen.

No Survivors. But the two fliers that the man named Falsner said had left the rest might be still alive. And so the two dragons, and their weary riders, flew north to the Northern Continent.

_

* * *

Ista Weyr Infirmary, the next morning_

Even as he lay, even in his semi-conscious state on the cot in the infirmary, Terellan knew that they weren't coming. His family was not coming that day, nor the day after, nor any day at all. They were never coming ever again.

Terellan knew that his family was dead.

He knew it when he woke up in a crowded infirmary full of sick and injured people. People who had been asleep when they had been crushed in their holds like he had. Many had seen the brilliant lights like he had, and had been caught off guard when their world had been turned upside down, by something that none of them could understand.

And many of them had an interesting story like his, that they had been rescued by strangers, wearing strange clothing and holding strange objects. They had come in the dark, helping to rescue people who had been unable to help themselves. They had spoken strangely, in a dialect difficult to understand. But they were willing to render assistance to those who needed it.

And as dragonriders and relief began to arrive from stricken Ista Weyr, they had vanished as strangely as they had come.

He had heard from another that the dragonriders were looking for the strangers, along with a pair of 'fliers'. Terellan had heard by then about the vessels and their attack on Pern. He wondered about people from other worlds. What would they look like? He wondered.

He had decided to find the strangers, when he was able to move on his broken ankle again. That's what He would do. He wanted to thank these strangers for saving his life.

And why they didn't save the rest of his family.

* * *

_That's a wrap for this chapter. The next is coming up soon, as soon as I can write it._


	12. Chapter 12

I'm back. Miss me?

Well, back into the Game.

_**It's worth noting Dr. Merc takes not credit for the works of Anne McCaffrey.**_

* * *

**MEMORIES**

Capris came to. Her cockpit was bathed in red light from the emergency lamp in the console. The lights and screens of the consoles were all dead. She tried to figure out why she couldn't see from her left eye, only to realize that it was caked with blood; her helmet had cracked, causing fragments to lacerate her forehead above her eye.

The pilot shrugged her helmet off, letting it clatter to the bulkhead beneath her feet. Only while clearing her eye of blood did she truly realize her predicament.

Her Stiletto was just beneath the surface of the ocean that she had been flying over just moments previous. And it was sinking fast. Light filtered down through the waves, flickering above her.

_Oh, shit,_ Capris thought, realizing the amount of danger she was in. After the battle she had fought, she was amazed the craft she was in was still airtight.

The battle. Falsner, the Battlecruiser, what was happening? Were they alive? She didn't have time to think about that. She had to get out of this mess she was in.

Leaving her helmet in the cockpit, she tightened the straps securing her to her seat and, with one final glance up, squeezed her eyes shut and primed the Ejection seat.

For the briefest off moments, nothing happened. Then, in an instant, the magnetic seals released from the canopy and the cockpit seat, with Capris strapped to it, shot out and into the sea beyond. It took only a fraction of a second for the rocketing seat to breach the water's surface, the salt of which stung the wound in Amata's forehead, and shoot out into the atmosphere beyond. The rocket motor propelled the seat hundreds of meters into the sky, high enough for its passenger to have a decent panoramic view of the world she had crash landed on.

It was after her chute had deployed that she saw it; a landmass, far off in the distance on the horizon. She wondered if she could swim it, being thankful that the prevailing winds on the world seemed to be blowing inland today. As she dangled in her seat, three hundred meters above the ocean, watching the skies and searching for any signs of fighter craft or any life at all, she wondered where they all were, her fellow wingmen, and how they were all doing.

She hadn't much time to think, as the ejection seat plummeted fast, splashing down into the water, the flotation devices embedded in the base inflating to prevent it from sinking.

Capris unbuckled her harness, splashing down into the water below. She wondered briefly, on whether she should try to swim for land or stay with her seat. The beacon embedded in it would likely be broadcasting by now, so she decided to stay with it.

As she sat in her seat and bobbed in the sea, Capris wondered about where Falsner was. Or the rest of her squadron for that matter. Had they won? Were they all alive? Were they dead? The most obvious answer was a hopeful yes. At the very least, they had succeeded in stopping the Crosseye Battlecruiser the proof of which was all around her; the planet was still there and not a brand new asteroid field.

She thought about her predicament. Here she was, alone, bobbing like a cork in an unknown and alien sea.

Something bumped into her seat, brushing against her legs. She almost panicked, wondering what it could be. And then she saw a fin pop out from the water to her left.

And then she screamed.

What looked like a very large fish popped out of the water next to her before slipping back under the waves as if it never existed. Another creature appeared to her right, and then suddenly several surrounded her tiny boat.

_Fantastic_, Capris thought. _There has to be better ways to go than to be devoured by the local fauna._ These creatures did seem familiar somehow, as if she'd seen them somewhere before.

One of them surfaced close to her, rolling onto its side. The lieutenant saw what looked like its head, a narrow snout with razor sharp teeth and small black eyes. It waved a gray flipper at her, as if to say hello.

"Yeah, hi to you too," Echo said, warily looking around her at the gray shapes. One of them started to tug on the floaters, followed by the others.

"Hey, don't do that-"

"Weee help you." One of the largest creatures suddenly spoke in what sounded like broken Terran.

Capris looked at the creature. It could talk. In old English too. She started laughing hysterically, as the dolphins started pulling her in the general direction of shore. That's what they were called, _dolphins_. Why did she know that? Something from her childhood?

Her thoughts were scattered as the world around her was bathed in white light.

It came from out to sea, far, far off in the distance, from behind her. Moments later she felt the searing heat wash over her, knowing that something big had just exploded behind her. When she knew it would be safe to look, Capris squinted to find the source through the bloom, only to see a mushroom cloud rise from the surface of the sea, far, far off, well beyond the horizon. The battlecruiser, in its death throes.

"We won," Capris mouthed, silently at the sight she beheld.

They bobbed in the water for several hours, drifting towards a slowly growing landmass. The creatures dragged her seat to the shore of an alien island, onto the beach of a distant world far from her own home. They said their goodbyes, asking her to be safe. Echo mumbled a reply, still dazed they could speak. She recalled that countless pods of dolphins roamed the open shallow seas of Aquilos, brought there when colonists first settled her homeworld. Dolphins were one of the few Earth creatures to survive the Exodus from Earth. But she couldn't ever recall them being able to _talk_.

She looked around the alien beach that surrounded her, the rolling waves of the ocean behind her. She noted the strange bluish trees further from the beach. The stress of the last few hours had finally begun to wear on her, the stress of seeing her friends die and knowing they were all quite likely dead.

She collapsed to the sandy beach, alone, and cried.

* * *

Falsner floated in darkness. He couldn't tell which way was up, down, left or right. When he came to, his last vivid memory was flying his strike craft into the main engine of the sinking battlecruiser.

The only thing he couldn't figure out was why he was still alive. For all intents and purposes, he was dead. So where was he? Purgatory? Unlikely, there wasn't anyone else here. Hell? If this black void was Hell it was better than fiery land of brimstone that he imagined as a child.

"Oh no, you're not dead yet," A strangely familiar voice spoke from somewhere in the blackness.

"Who is that?" Falsner heard himself ask.

The lieutenant heard a chuckle. "Isn't it obvious? Just open your eyes." And Falsner did.

He found that he was sitting off to the side some kind of large chamber, with countless rows of seats, all filled with people. Massive crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, lighting the impossibly vast room. Falsner realized he was sitting in a VIP box in some kind of immense theater. It was even bigger than the Parliamentary Hall on Exodus Prime he had once visited.

"Quite a show, isn't it?" The voice asked from next to him.

Falsner glanced over to see a young, pale woman, sitting in the chair directly next to him. She was dressed in all white, from the bright white hat she wore to her pale satin dress. On a closer look, Falsner realized she was an albino; in addition to the fact her skin was colored like pale alabaster, her eyes lacked any pigment, her irises blood red as a result.

"Have we met?" The lieutenant asked her.

"We have, once before, on Farbanti Prime. Remember, the last campaign? You were shot down, and I saved your life. Oh, yeah, that's two you owe me."

Falsner remembered. It had been during the last weeks of the conflict. CTS forces had finally broken through the last defensive lines of the Farbanti rebels and had begun launching fighter strikes on the capitol world. He had been shot down, miraculously surviving the crash when the eject system in his fighter craft failed. At least, that was what he was told when he woke up aboard a Confederation hospital ship three days later, the doctors themselves stunned that he had survived such a horrific accident practically unscathed, as if someone or something had intervened to save his life.

"That was you, wasn't it?" Falsner said.

"Yep, pretty much," she spoke, smiling. The albino woman gestured out towards the crowd below and the stage beyond. "Take a look why don't you. It's a great show that's going on."

Falsner looked out at the crowd. Only it wasn't a crowd; Falsner had difficulty telling exactly who or what was sitting in the seats below, their bodies obscured by weird, floating, _static_. The screen however was crystal clear. It showed a replay of the events right up to Falsner flying his Stiletto JSSF into the central engine nacelle of the Crosseye battlecruiser, the strange draconic creatures that had escorted him, even the colossal explosion that was the result of his kamikaze attack that he didn't have the chance to witness in person. All replayed from a third-person view, as if someone had been following with video recorder.

"So, this is from your perspective?" he asked the woman next to him.

"As sharp as ever my dear lieutenant," she replied. "Yes, I have been watching you for a while now. Although it has only until now have I refrained from, how should a say, intervention."

"I can see that. So then, what is it that you want from me?"

"I only want you to live," She stated. "And, if the need arises, a favor. You owe me two so far."

"Capris, Texas, Raccoon, Chuk-Chuk and the rest of them. What about them?"

"You mean your wingmen, as you would state it?" The stranger leaned back in her padded chair, thoughtful for a moment. "Oh, they made it so to speak, and under their own volition to boot. You'll see them all again soon enough."

"Okay." Falsner settled in his own seat. He noted it was rather quite comfortable. "Where is 'here' anyway?"

"This is what your head looks like, so to speak. I suppose you could say that you are dreaming." "Oh brilliant," Falsner said. What are you, some kind of head person? A hallucination?"

"No, not at all my dear Thomas," She spoke softly. "I am a messenger, a person who would like to see you live." All you have to do to return is wake up."

"Say what?"

"Wake up!"

Falsner was up at a start, his eyes flashing open, only to be blinded in an instant by harsh sunlight. His head was pounding and he was sore all over, pain receptors bombarded his brain as if it had all been off for years.

"Hold still, I need to wrap that cut on your head," He heard a voice speak nearby.

"Capris?" Falsner choked? "I thought you were dead!"

"I could say the same about you," She spoke, relief etched in her voice. I thought we were goners back there."

"What happened, to the others?" Falsner gasped, throat dry from thirst.

"You're the only one I've found so far that's washed ashore." She spoke, tears welling up behind her eyes. "I don't think they made it."

"Ashore?"

"Yeah."

Falsner said nothing. The words of the Albino woman echoed in the back of his mind, beginning to fade away at an oddly quick rate. _You'll see them all again soon enough. _In the distance, he heard the sound of waves crashing ashore, steady and rhythmic. He dimly recalled that the planet they had found had oceans, water oceans at that.

"How'd you make it?"

"What?" Capris spoke.

"I saw, your ship, _blow up,_" Falsner spoke, methodically. "No ejection seat, no emergency beacon, nothing. How did you survive, this is important, trust me."

"Okay, you might not believe some of it though." And Capris told him. She told him how the Stiletto had taken a beating and gone down into the oceans of the alien world they had fought on. How she had woken up in a sinking craft, how she had ejected into an alien sky. How she had met a pod of talking dolphins which had dragged her ejection seat ashore. She told him how, after making it ashore, she had wandered the coastline for a good few hours, before literally stumbling across his body. Finally, she told him how she had witnessed the fiery demise of the battlecruiser, and how they had claimed victory.

_At a horrific price_, Falsner thought to himself. Most of his wingmen were dead. Or worse. He hoped Raccoon and Chuk-Chuk had made it safely away at least. Val and Tex… His thoughts trailed away.

"I made it out," Amata spoke, as if knowing what he was thinking. "Maybe they did too." She finished with her dressing, leaning away. After looping an arm under Falsner's shoulder, she helped him up, the Lieutenant stumbling wearily to his own feet. Falsner got a good look around at the surface of the alien world for the first time. A blue sea stretched out in front of him, gentle waves lapping at the shore. A wide, flat beach stretched out in two directions as far as he could see. A thick forest of blue and green trees lay behind him. A planet, teeming with life.

"Nice place," the Lieutenant spoke. "Might be a good place to vacation one day."

"I don't think we'll have a say in that matter, not until rescue shows up."

Falsner had thought about that. Two of his guys had enough time to make it away; as far as he knew they'd had a chance to radio an SOS with Rac's sensor load-out before bailing out somewhere dry. Perhaps Himself and Capris could backtrack to her seat, try to boost the emergency transponder-

His thoughts were interrupted by his growling stomach, reminding him of the last time he had a meal. "I think we should head back to your pod," Falsner spoke. Get a meal ration before we decide what to do or where to go from here."

"That sounds like a good idea, I guess," Capris replied. "It's about four kilometers that way," she said as she pointed down the beach. "Can you walk?"

Falsner shrugged off her arm. "I think I can manage."

"That's good." Abruptly, she took off, running across the sandy shore. Falsner immediately fell into a light jog, following her in her footsteps. Barely five minutes before Amata had been on the verge of tears. Now she had returned to her old self, somewhat. Amazing what a little relief could do to a person.

An hour later, and they both sat propped against the ejection seat from Capris' Stiletto, sharing the contents of her three-day mean ration. The planet's sun had begun to set, the twilight of dusk rapidly approaching.

"It'll be night soon," Amata spoke.

"Yeah."

"Think we should try and build a fire?"

"I don't think we should, might attract the locals."

"You seem worried about them, why is that?"

"CTF Standard Operating Procedure when encountering an alien species, avoid contact unless you're trained to make contact. That, and they might not understand what the hell happened today, might think we're responsible for any casualties that they may have suffered." He recalled the multicolored avians that they had encountered that day. How they had displayed such bravery against such impossible odds. _Or overwhelming stupidity_.

"I know it's pointless to argue at this point," Amata spoke. I guess I'll be in for a chilly night."

Falsner sat there, quietly thinking. She was right, more or less, he had thought over contact with the locals. They looked like humans riding domesticated animals, there was a colony ship in orbit of human origins. Perhaps…

"Amata," Falsner said suddenly. "Get that torch out of the storage compartment. We're gonna have ourselves a little bonfire tonight."

"That sounds like a good idea," she replied, hopping to her feet to dig through the open compartment.

Falsner knew he was going against his better judgment. At the moment though he simply didn't care. While his wingman fiddled with her gear, he walked over to the nearby woods, searching for any dry wood before darkness fell. He recalled, a long, long time of two weeks ago, that he had been looking forward to some shore leave on Tzu 32. It might have been a little late, and a little unexpected, but god damn it he had a feeling he was going to get his leave.

He reached the edge of the woods, and, somewhat tentatively, took his first of what he imagined would be many steps into a new world.

* * *

In a distant star system, far from any human habitation, a tiny craft exited slipspace and set course for a massive asteroid orbiting a distant red giant.

The alien craft was a small one, created not for combat or defensive purposes but for speed. The ship carried an encoded message from the battlecruiser that had deployed it. As it approached the asteroid, countless small objects began to come into view, growing larger as the craft came closer, the objects became larger, until the objects orbiting the rock dwarfed the tiny craft.

The craft set course for the largest of the massive vessels, itself many times larger than its companion ships. In the underside of the immense vessel, a single port slid open, allowing the tiny craft access. Continuing at its same speed, it entered the port without slowing, the port itself sealing shut behind it.  
It docked at a receptacle within the ship, the chamber pressurizing. It was pitch black at first within the bay, the only sound forming as the room filled with gases was the whisper of the cooling engines of the craft.

The relative silence was broken by the sound of a port opening on a bulkhead, darkness retreating as light cascaded from the newly formed door into the bay. In the doorway stood a lone figure, clad in a long, flowing white robe. It stood there in the portal, gazing inward at the craft that had just arrived and docked.

After what seemed to be an interminable period of silence, the figure strode forward, bee lining for the front of the craft, reaching it in mere moments. After studying the surface for a moment, it reached out and touched the surface of the craft. At its touch, a panel popped out of the craft, exposing an interface concealed on the craft's surface. Its fingers danced across the interface, tapping buttons, its hand a mere blur as it analyzed the information it had received. After about a minute of typing, the figure stopped, hand falling once again to its side. And then, it threw off its hood, exposing its face, a smile from ear to ear.

The figure had the form of a young human male, but human it was not. This figure was a mere construct of greater beings, meant to act as an interface for specific tasks. The figure glanced over the craft, lost in thought. After a moment, he spoke, his voice echoing through the room.

"So, my brother, what is it that you are up to, on this world called Pern?"

* * *

_And holy shit, that's a wrap._

_I won't lie to you, what I was thinking of when I started to write this out two years ago, how to end it, it kind of sucked. Of course, at this point, you're probably wondering where I've been. You also probably don't expect a Dead Fic to suddenly rise from the grave now, do you? Suffice it to say, recent events made me gain the necessary creativity to bypass a sort of writer's block I've had recently. I'll leave it at that._

Now, in the wake of my absence, I think I will answer a few last questions:

**cklammer:** Well, as for those two questions, you'll just have to wait and see in Part 2. The Crosseyes aren't gone, And "First Contact" will happen sooner than you think.

**snowecat:** No, I don't have anything against Ista Weyr. But, it will play an important and upcoming part.

Well, aside from that, logging out for now. Look for the second part popping up in a few days. Also, one last chapter for this, a sneak peek at the upcoming second part, _**The Shifting Sands**_.

-The Merc


End file.
